


Fait Accompli

by Halfofwhatyouare



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Character Study, Diary/Journal, F/F, Kind of..., Lesbian AU, Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn, idk what else to tag this with it's so hard to describe jaisudhuifhd, reflections on issues such as depression self harm drug use and addiction and suicidal thoughts, relatively rich Katya, working class Trixie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 126,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfofwhatyouare/pseuds/Halfofwhatyouare
Summary: When Katya, having just arrived in LA for a fresh start, comes across a figure from her past, she is both haunted and intrigued, and must determine how to successfully build her new life beyond what used to be...(Purposefully vague summary, yes)
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova, Violet Chachki/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 153
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I think I might have just embarked upon the hardest writing challenge of my life and I'm not one hundred percent sure how to feel about it yet. This story deals with struggles with addiction (which I have not personally experienced so I do hope I have managed to portray it respectfully) and other issues such as depression, self harm, suicidal ideation and anxiety (of which I am all too familiar with). BUT please trust me - it's not all doom and gloom. 
> 
> I've always been told I put too much of myself in my work and, given a lot of the subject matter, you can see why that might make things a little difficult during the writing process. I'm hoping, however, to post a chapter per week. I have no idea how long this story is going to be in the end or where exactly it's going when there are so many threads to weave together. That's what makes me so excited, though...
> 
> Title is taken from both the literal meaning and the song by Curve, which you should definitely all listen to. 
> 
> Sorry for such a long intro. This isn't as full-on depressing as I'm worried it sounds aaaaa eurfeir9fgk. I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know your thoughts, I always appreciate feedback :)))

She had unpacked and was proud of herself, for it had only taken seven days. She didn’t have a lot of stuff but she had even less motivation for the mundane and was trying her hardest, at all times, to see the positive side of things. To an outsider looking in, Katya didn’t have a damn thing to complain about and that was pretty much the rule of thumb with regards to her entire life.

There was something rather interesting about the contradiction between her actual reality and how she had gone on perceiving it in such a way as to bring about one breakdown after another, and she would be the first to admit that she used to relish in the dramatic narcissism of it all. She was crazy but, at thirty seven, she was self aware, too. And also properly taken care of, now her parents thought her finally well and responsible enough. They had bought her an apartment in LA. She couldn’t play the damsel in self inflicted distress ever again.

The boxes had been intimidating, piled high and spread wide in what was her living room but what she hoped, one day, would act as a studio-come-performance area. Her sister had helped her sort out the arrangements and practicalities required to transport her belongings from Boston to Echo Park and, before that, her parents had had a family friend who lived in Beverly Hills traipse around overpriced properties, sending photos and videos to her mom’s iPad for inspection. What one would assume to be a very helpful favour came as more of a hindrance when Katya would be called down from her bedroom every five minutes to resolve a (nonexistent) technical issue. Pat was trying her best. Probably. 

The property itself was completely nondescript from the outset, positioned on Morton Avenue, right by the Elysian Park trail, a hidden little gem amongst the greenery and much larger houses of such a sought after neighbourhood. 

What appealed to Katya the most was how bright it was. The LA sun shone all day through the big windows and Juliet balcony, and almost reflected off the clean white walls. It was why she was so eager to change up the lounge, easily picturing herself in there with her canvases, her paints and charcoal and the many smudges of graphite on her hands, surveying her work with the kind of clarity only brought about by natural light. 

She also wanted to convert the three garages below the main apartment. She didn’t drive and didn’t ever intend on doing either. For the first time, she had a space that was properly _hers_ and, like she herself had transformed, she wanted to give her little haven a transformation to something greater, too. 

The last box took the most effort to sequester. The giant, white fitted wardrobes which took up the entire length of one of her bedroom walls was, unfortunately, full, close to overspilling with garish patterned dresses and hand embellished knee high boots. The kitchen cupboards, though embarrassingly bare, were not appropriate and the cupboard next to the bathroom was taken up by all of her mom’s old or unused towels, bedding and cleaning products.

Her apartment was truly spacious and airy, which meant there was nowhere to hide.

She sighed, wiping her sweaty hands onto her thighs, and looked down to the offending item at her feet. She wished she wasn’t currently sleeping on a mattress on the floor - she thought it would have been fitting to shove the box under her bed, hidden in waiting like the monsters she used to pretend she wasn’t scared of when she was a child.

When she had been at her parents’ house, she didn’t have to think about it. Relics from her past were only available to locate if she really tried to look for them, through the inherited lace table dressings in the attic left to her mom by her late grandmother and behind the piles of books about martial arts and the detailed histories of karate masters that her dad kept, unspoken about, despite him being retired from the profession for longer than he was in it. Amongst the detritus, her belongings were easy to forget. Amidst blank space, she couldn’t help but fixate. 

Crouching down, the tight denim around the waist of her mom jeans dug into her stomach. She ran her finger along each edge of the lid of the box and then traced the words that had been scrawled over the cardboard in bold black marker. ‘Katya’s Diaries - please do not open’, it said. She doesn’t even remember writing it, or exactly when she decided to put an end to her indulgences, put the pen down for good. She was glad that she did record the grand, life changing events and dull, unremarkable details when she did as she despised how poor her memory was, resented the fact that she had to rely on her pages of recollection to actually be able to recall. Since then, she’d become enlightened enough to know that whatever happened to her wasn’t worth the hand wringing, self-flagellation and overly rich prose. She knew, now, there was no higher purpose. There was no point. 

But she couldn’t berate herself for her former ritual completely. It had been a habit and her addictive personality had to learn to go without it, along with the many other things that had effectively ruined her existence for quite some time.

She lifted the lid and peered inside, recognising each book, laid so their spine faced upwards and organised from left to right in chronological order. Their mismatched colours made her smile as her eyes tracked the progression from bright, fuzzy purples and bold reds to greys and blacks and leathers. She wondered, for the first time, just how many words she had written over the years, how many pages she had poured her heart out onto, had tainted with her unfiltered mind. 

She had believed there was value in being a tortured soul, so earnestly, so desperately, and that her anxieties and depressions and manic two am ramblings amounted to something greater than the simple reality of being a human in pain. 

It had taken seemingly endless bouts of work to understand that her suffering didn’t make her special, that she, in fact, was just like everybody else - that no matter the extreme extent to which she explored her anguish, it wasn’t a unique experience and someone, somewhere, would have been having the very same thoughts at the very same time. It was also difficult to balance regarding her problems in this manner without disregarding them or undermining them altogether, which only served to reinforce the added guilt that came with having nothing to be anxious or depressed or manic about in the first place. 

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, pulling her out of her reverie. It was Violet, messaging her, asking her to come see her that evening at one of her runway shows for LA fashion week and to be her plus one to an afterparty. 

Katya felt kind of neglectful. She’d been in LA over a week and hadn’t reached out, and it was evident that Violet was eager to see her and she was grateful for the invitation. It came at the right time, now she was properly settled and felt like an actual, permanent resident. Violet was walking for Farina Farzana, a designer Katya had never heard of before but quickly researched. It wasn’t Violet’s style but she knew she’d pull off whatever outfit was given to her and sell it like it was the best fucking thing on the planet.

Having an agenda put the problem of her box of diaries into perspective and tore her attention away. She picked it up and placed it on her coffee table (a mirrored monstrosity that she couldn’t decide if she liked yet or not) and hastily replied to Violet, telling her she was coming and joking that she’d steal the show and all eyes would be on her instead of the models.

“Can’t wait to see you, bitch!” Violet fired back instantly and Katya just knew her phone was glued to her hand as she rode in her Uber on the way to makeup. Katya returned the sentiment and truly meant it. Boston, though she had some good friends there, had become isolating, especially when she’d had to go back to Marlborough. Having an active social life was pretty impossible when she had to travel an hour to get anywhere remotely worthwhile. 

She took her time planning her outfit, trawling through the rails upon rails which were visibly weighed down by the hangers of clothing, freshly organised by colour and type so she didn’t have to fret in attempts to find a particular item. She eventually settled on her new white Melitta Baumeister dress which fanned at the shoulders so its sleeves stood out like roughly cut wings. It finished a couple of inches above her knees and was relatively shapeless. She pulled on some sheer tights with black hearts printed on them and finished off the look with her trusty Helmut Lang heeled clogs and a cigarette necklace she’d made herself. 

“Fashion, darling!” She exclaimed to her own reflection in the mirror she’d propped up, frameless, against the wall and posed in increasingly more bizarre positions, snapping photos of herself on her phone and laughing at her own silliness. 

She double checked the address Violet had given her once she’d done her makeup and, pushing her favourite zebra print Marc Jacobs sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, trotted out onto the street to call an Uber. She was a sweaty woman by nature so the mild March temperature didn’t phase her, her bare arms warm enough from the exertion of getting ready and prancing around. As she waited for her driver, she tried not to entertain any anxieties that could arise from going somewhere new and meeting people she probably wouldn’t like, besides Violet. She was going to have a good time, she vowed, and nothing would phase her.

-

1st May 1995

It’s my birthday! It’s been a trip. Literally! Michele came over last night when my parents were asleep. Dan was staying at Jono’s breaking his curfew again and Shannon had been out cold for ages, so we were safe. Michele even crawled through my window!

We didn’t stay inside long. It wasn’t cold out so I took her to see the sights of the neighbourhood. The fire hydrant that a car knocked over last week and the bush where I saw that racoon one time. She was, of course, totally impressed. 

Actually, she said I was hilarious (this was before we dropped acid so, like, she was being legit) and I tried at every point I could to make her laugh. It worked! I think she really likes me and that doesn’t happen often so I guess that’s why I get so excited every time I see her. 

Wow, I’m even lying to my own diary. Good job, Katya. 

Anyway, once we got to the park and checked there were no creeps hanging around, we sat on the swings and she said she had a present for me. She held out her hand in a fist and teased me a bit (my face was sooooo red, I’m so glad it was dark out) until I begged her to show me what it was. And boy did she show me! 

I’d done weed before at Michele’s friend’s house in February but dropping acid was a billion times cooler! We ended up lying in the middle of the road, watching the sky drip and melt and laughing laughing LAUGHING until I thought my lungs were gonna float out of my body or something.

We watched the trees too. They sprouted up out of the ground and twisted and turned and, like, unwrapped themselves, until they looked like normal trees with their branches spread and their leaves where they should be, not floating mid air. They still didn’t seem real though??? It’s hard to explain. I might go try and find them this afternoon to check.

My parents are doing a cute family dinner for me in a bit. I only woke up at 12 when my dad barged in my room and told me too much sleep wasn’t healthy. I got in at 3am so I think I’m off the hook. I’m so sneaky ha ha ha!

There better be a good cake hiding in the fridge…

Man, what an amazing start to being 13! Woohoo! 

KZ :-)

-

She was, obviously, not front row, but the ticket she’d picked up when quoting Violet’s name positioned her right behind the press and her chair was by the aisle, giving her more space to stretch out if she so required. She texted Violet to say she was ready and waiting and told her to break a leg but Violet, most likely in the throes of getting dressed, didn’t reply. Katya was left to look around and study the people coming in and quickly filling up the venue.

The catwalk itself was unremarkable, nothing like the genius of Chanel’s airport set up or McQueen’s infamous ring of fire at his Autumn/Winter 1998 show, but Katya still got excited by the giant screen flashing in bold colours at the back and the music thumping in the background, drowning out surrounding conversations. She didn’t recognise many people on the FROW but was suitably occupied by assessing their outfits and coming up with funny comments to share with Violet after it was all over. 

“It wasn’t any good,” Katya heard an uppity voice from somewhere next to her over the noise, “But when it’s handed to you on a silver platter, you don’t say no, do you? I think I’m still a little too _buzzed_ , if you know what I mean.”

She tried her hardest not to roll her eyes and regretted that she’d already taken her sunglasses off and put them away in her bag. It was a relief when the show started. 

Only really watching out for Violet, she didn’t take too much notice of the other models strutting down the runway, focussing instead on the many different variations of the LBD being showcased, of how Farzana applied feathers and lace and chiffon to add dimension or structure a shape. Violet closed the show, standing out amongst everyone else dressed in a striking white, mostly see through floor length gown. Her bare chest was visible through the pearl-adorned material and she had removed her nipple piercing for the occasion. Katya thought her metal o ring would have given the look a bit more edge as, otherwise, it wasn’t anything she personally hadn’t seen before. Nevertheless, she understood the appeal and couldn’t judge the gasps from the audience too harshly. Violet had been made to wear high waisted white briefs and Katya tried to catch her eye and smirk with the knowledge that, if it was up to Violet, she would have happily walked without any underwear on at all. 

Katya bit her lip when Violet finished her pose at the end of the catwalk and turned, fiercely, hips swaying as she made her way back. She commanded the room. Katya was probably the only one not completely at her mercy. It was why they had only ever worked as friends or (infrequent) friends with benefits. That and Violet was ten years younger than her and Katya had more issues than Violet had of vintage Vogue magazines.

Once all the models did a final walk, clapping and bringing Farina out for an ovation, Katya made a quick dash for the exit. Violet texted her instructions of where to meet her and Katya used the toilet, pressed dermablend to her shiny forehead and then made her way to the backstage area. She didn’t go in, didn’t want to impose herself on the post-show chaos but it probably wasn’t better to hang around the door like a loon either. She lit a cigarette even though she was technically inside and fiddled on her phone, posting some photos she’d snapped to her Insta stories and adding unnecessary gifs or stupid remarks. 

Violet eventually sprung the door open and leaned against the frame seductively, one long leg bent, her lithe body positioned effortlessly so it curved like a crescent moon. Katya cackled and Violet pulled her into a tight hug. It was brief but sincere and Katya could glimpse the makeup stations with their lit up mirrors and artists hurriedly trying to tidy their products up behind her. 

Then - a flash of blonde. Too familiar. Katya’s heart stopped and her whole body stiffened. Dear god, no, fuck no no _no_. It couldn’t be…

“Ok, ok, sorry for trying to be nice and affectionate after it’s been so long. I forgot how much of a frigid old cow you are.” Violet’s voice doused over her. Violet pulled back and rolled her eyes, grabbing her by the wrist instead and dragging her out, away from... _her_.

Katya shook her head, forced out a laugh and took a deep breath. Once they’d properly exited the venue and Katya’s nerves had recovered somewhat, she managed to smirk, placing a heavy hand on Violet’s painfully tiny waist and another on her rouged cheek. “First of all, I missed you too, you cunt. Secondly - shut all the way up.” She tilted her face towards Violet, who towered over her in her Louboutins, and pressed a harsh, surprising kiss to her painted lips. 

Violet squawked in indignation, her usual severe and serious countenance when working obliterated by Katya’s antics. Katya wheezed, focussing as best she could on embarrassing her friend instead of what she thought she saw. Stay in the present, she reminded herself, don’t slip, don’t stray. 

The after party they were due to attend didn’t start until ten, which gave them enough time to get dinner and properly catch up. Violet had pulled some strings and managed to get them a last minute reservation at Polo Lounge and, for all she pretended to be satisfied with Olive Garden, Katya found it refreshing, and somehow relieving, to be able to receive silver service and explore a quality menu she wasn’t sickeningly familiar with. She had her favourite places in Boston but there were only so many times she could go to them before she could no longer taste what was being put in front of her - she knew it all like the back of her hand. 

They were shown to a table outside and Katya let Violet walk in front of her, watched as she strutted in exactly the same way as she did down the runway so all eyes were on her. Her silver and black striped Miu Miu miniskirt reflected the light and the shirt she wore, tied painfully tight at her waist, created a slightly more relaxed silhouette than Katya was used to seeing on her, its boxy shoulders accented with black organza ruffles which met in a v shape at her chest. 

The restaurant was beautiful and they couldn’t have had a better positioned spot if they tried, sat underneath one of the many trees and overlooking the rest of the tables, the baby pink arches separating another seating area and the fuschias bobbing gently up and down in the evening breeze. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Violet asked after they were handed the menu and their waiter hovered, anticipating a request to be moved inside.

“No.” Katya said, “I can’t feel a thing since the accident.” 

They ordered smoked balik salmon to start with a salad to share and Katya tried the lamb loin whilst Violet chose the linguine pomodoro, requesting no parmesan as if that would make it any healthier. Katya made fun of her stupid model logic and they verbally sparred until they were ready to settle down, to talk about the important stuff. 

“So they finally let you go then?” Violet half-jokingly asked.

Katya huffed. “They weren’t keeping me prisoner! I don’t know what it was exactly that made them decide I was ready, after all this time, and I could have moved here independently before, my mom even said that she wouldn’t have resisted me renting and getting a normie job. She’d have liked that, actually, and I wouldn’t have minded grafting like I used to just without the, uh, help. I guess it was just a matter of everything falling into place now Dan has a fucking son, y’know?”

“Pat will be _living_ for being a grandma.” 

“You have no idea. That baby is spoiled rotten.”

“You can’t talk.” Violet quipped, her black hair flowing down her back in crafted loose waves. “What’s your dad’s opinion on the whole thing?”

“You know what he’s like - silent and stoic - but he gave me a lot more cuddles than usual when we started looking for apartments so I could tell he was going to miss me.” Katya couldn’t help but smile tenderly at the memory of the many instances of him wrapping his arm around her as they sat side by side on the sofa, watching Cold War documentaries together and lamenting the obvious and enraging American bias in the narration. He had pulled her close and, in those moments, she had been transported back to being ten and feeling like he was an omnipotent god who would protect her no matter what. “He said he was proud of me, the day of my flight.”

Violet placed an elegant hand on her forearm. “Rightly so. They know how far you’ve come. I think they genuinely just wanted to have you around.”

“I am a delight.” Katya grinned, baring her dazzling teeth. “What’s new with you, anyway?”

“Oh, you know, just gonna shoot an ad with Sarah Paulson for Prada.” She waved her hand, pretending to be nonchalant and unaffected. When Katya merely quirked her eyebrow, Violet batted at her and her facade fell away. 

“Fuck, that’s _fantastic_!” Katya enthused and let Violet ramble on about the morning her agent contacted her and told her the news. 

They didn’t have dessert. Violet ordered a glass of champagne for herself and a coffee for Katya as they waited for the bill, which they split like they always did. 

“So who’s going to be there tonight?” Katya asked, trying not to let any trepidation arise. 

“No one you’d know, I don’t think.” Great. “But you should talk to people, try and see what you can wrangle.” 

Katya sighed. “I’m not here for that, you should know that.” She didn’t expect Violet to be by her side the whole time, she wasn’t stupid or completely incapable of normal social behaviour, but she also didn’t really want to think about work or networking or any of that kind of shit. She didn’t know what she wanted to reestablish herself as in LA and she certainly didn’t fancy spending her first proper party trying to talk about her former stroke of luck in the industry. 

Thankfully, Violet got the hint and didn’t try and argue the matter. “Everyone will be drunk and dancing by twelve, anyway. You can bust out your sexy moves.”

“Exactly what I plan to do.”

The after party was held at Broken Shaker, a rooftop bar overlooking the city that LAFW had booked out for the whole night, ensuring guests from the hotel below weren’t permitted access. The place itself wasn’t what Katya had imagined for such an event, its fun and vibrant colours, boho decoration and cute tiki-bar a far cry from the (brief) experience she’d had in the past of similar parties in New York. Times had changed, she figured, and the west coast fashion scene was very different to the east. 

The doorman swiftly waved them through the entrance when Violet gave her name and soon they were immersed in the throng of beautiful people Violet had come to call colleagues and, perhaps, friends. Katya wasn’t sure. It appeared as if everyone knew Violet but Katya witnessed her instantly slip back into work mode, the carefully crafted and restrained version of herself Katya had seen on the catwalk. Violet quickly introduced her to her agent, Carson, a flamboyant man in a colourful patterned jacket, and went to get drinks whilst Carson asked Katya how she was finding LA.

“Violet told me you just moved.” He sipped on his cocktail with his pinky finger pointing outwards. 

“Yeah, loving it so far, though I’ve sadly not explored much further than my own neighbourhood.” 

“Well this isn’t bad for your _début_ , is it?” 

Katya laughed at his exaggerated faux french accent and, when she took his words into consideration, found that she couldn’t disagree one bit. The LA skyline glinted, golden lights dotted on and around the downtown skyscrapers mapped their figurations against the backdrop of the ever darkening night. More and more groups of people started to fill the floorspace and the pool, lit up in changing colours, reflected the Aon Centre and One Wilshire, making their grotesque, grey exteriors seem more soft and palatable than they were. Katya glanced around, feeling more at ease than she had expected to be.

By the time Violet returned, having been cornered by all and sundry hoping for a precious piece of her time and attention, Katya had artfully dodged Carson’s enquiries as to her field of work and was asking him about his involvement in True Colors United, a nonprofit which addressed the issues of LGBT youth homelessness. It had been founded by Cyndi Lauper, which Violet had mentioned once when she had gushed about how lucky she was to have an actual decent person working with her, a rarity in the fashion world for sure. 

When they were alone, Violet bent to talk in her ear. “See, I told you it’d be fine. The LA scene has such a different vibe, way more chill. I think the makeup artist that worked on my face today is even here. It’s less hierarchical.”

“Which is probably why no major designers showcase here.” Katya retorted, earning her one of Violet’s wide open mouthed laughs.

“Look, it’s paid some of my bills until my Prada gig, alright? And I heard a few months back that Farina has been headhunted by Veronica Etro herself. It’s worthwhile to be seen with the stars before they’re given the platform to shine.” 

The pair took to the makeshift dance floor and Katya very much enjoyed breaking out some of her ridiculous routines, which resulted in Violet shouting at her over the music to “have some respect” and never call her ever again. She loved it really. Katya supposed she was a breath of fresh air for her amongst the uptight stick insects she was usually around. And that was just the men. Katya liked softening Violet’s harsh edges and always noticed when she’d get a certain reaction out of her that no one else likely would. They weren’t necessarily an opposites attract kind of situation, but they were certainly not two peas in a pod, either. 

Soon after, Violet introduced Naomi, who had walked in the same show that evening and whose legs seemingly went all the way up to her fucking eyeballs. Her attire was a lot more classically LA, the pink satin co-ord she wore accentuating her long limbs, toned stomach and smooth, shimmery skin. Her silver, strappy heels made her taller than she already was but it was her kind smile that Katya honed in on and she ensured she got a few laughs out of her too as they danced all together in a mini circle. 

The night passed pleasantly enough but, by one, Katya was eager to get home and into bed. The scare she’d had earlier was beginning to play on her mind and she, quite frankly, couldn’t be bothered to go on to the after-afterparty at Naomi’s friend’s condo. She mentioned turning in to Violet who frowned but nodded in understanding. 

“It’s so good to have you here.” Violet told her, gripping onto her forearms before pulling her into a side hug to say her farewells. 

After passing on her goodbyes to Naomi and Carson, Katya made her way down to the hotel and slipped into the nearest bathroom she could find. She splashed water onto her cheeks and dabbed a few droplets on her forehead, taking a set of long, deep breaths. She didn’t properly look at herself in the mirror and occupied her hands by squeezing a balled up towel to focus on the material shifting between her fingers, not the images flitting through her head.

Barbie blonde hair, curled so precisely, tumbling over statuesque shoulders. Katya knew every detail, could never rid herself of her form, no matter how many years had passed. She just never thought she’d see her again and now she had, it panicked her, _scared_ her. She was meant to be alright now, she was supposed to be in the clear and fully out and away from all of that, Violet even said she’d come so far, god, she needed to get under her covers and wrap herself up and _regulate_ , Jesus _fuck_. 

Just as she turned to leave, a cubicle door opened and Katya was properly confronted. She was there. In front of her, in full view. Tangible, _real_. 

“I know I’m gorgeous but you don’t have to stare that hard, you’ll pop a vein.” 

“I—” 

The edges of her vision began to blur like the onset of a migraine, the harsh lights reflected in the giant mirrors over the glass sinks danced and pulsated so she felt the throb of it deep in her veins, as if her body was no longer her own but slave to her surroundings. Katya couldn’t get her words out, though her mouth tried to formulate something - anything - and her lips were numb. She gripped onto the countertop for stability with desperate, sweaty hands, holding out for something other than the inescapable thought that she was dying and that the world turning black around her was what she deserved for actually believing she was level enough for long term recovery. That she had escaped. 

She barely registered the hands coming to hold her waist as she slid to the floor or the voice telling her she would be ok. She couldn’t believe it. Not anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo it's that time of the week again :) thank you to everyone who has read so far!
> 
> Just a brief message: there's a mention of a kind-of relationship with an age gap in this chapter. I have written it so because 1) it's going to be discussed later on in the story and 2) it was an experience I had when I was 15 - a girl I knew was with a girl many years her senior, and I think it's important to address that this unfortunately happens within same sex relationships and young people, when they're in isolated circumstances, are none the wiser. 
> 
> Again, jeez my notes make this sound so rotted! There's some sunshine and rainbows, I promise ;) Enjoy!

4th June 1997 

Mom’s kept me off school this week. She said she wouldn’t have if it wasn’t near the end of the semester but she had that look she does when she’s trying to be proper. I begged her not to tell admin the real reason why and she agreed quicker than I thought she would, which is now making me worry that she’s ashamed of me being like this, that she doesn’t want anyone to find out I’m feeling...weird. I wouldn’t blame her. 

Truth is, I don’t actually know what’s wrong with me. Neither does she, or she’s not said, anyway. She hasn’t mentioned me going to the doctor either…

Last week was the worst of my life - I was barely able to sleep each night and every morning my alarm would go off and dad would physically have to drag me out of bed, and then when I was up I felt sick all the time. I couldn’t eat because I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep it down but I didn’t throw up once, I just kept thinking I was always on the verge of it. I found it harder than usual to talk to people and my heart was racing non stop and even now just thinking about facing everyone at school is making me sweat. By Friday, I couldn’t hold it together and cried for, like, two hours in the woods on the way home where no one would see. My parents didn’t even make me go to mass on Sunday so something major must be going on for that fucking miracle to happen. 

Mom finally bought me the Garbage CD yesterday after literally WEEKS of me begging so that’s all I’ve been doing. Lying in bed with my Walkman and listening to Shirley Manson and crying and smoking whenever everyone is out. 

I haven’t had the energy to write in here, I haven’t had the energy for anything. Dad’s never got angry at me but he refused me skipping gymnastics so he’s driving me tonight like he did last week. Three times. I hate to admit it did make me feel a little better afterwards but I thought my whole stomach contents was gonna come gushing out of my mouth on the way there. I don’t think he noticed how badly I was freakin’. I didn’t land my Tsukahara every time I attempted it and I wanted to run away to fucking Siberia when Ms Brezhneva shouted at me, and when I told dad I didn’t do well he said at least I turned up and was actually doing something and that’s what matters to him. We got a burger on the way back after the last session and Dan and Shan are none the wiser. Silver linings, I guess…

God, last week SUCKED and I CAN’T EXPLAIN IT and it’s like there’s something deep inside me that’s telling me it’s not normal so just shut up and pretend that everything's ok else something terrible is going to happen. 

Michele gave me enough weed to last me through until the end of the school year. Usually hitting a blunt in the bathroom during lunch break keeps me level but it’s not been working as much. She rang yesterday, luckily when everyone else went to the mall for dinner. Her mom had bought all her stuff ready for college and had wrapped it up in a giant gift box like it was her birthday or something. I think her mom is just relieved she didn’t totally screw up and actually got in somewhere kinda decent. 

I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.

She said she’s having a few parties over the summer but she’d prefer it if I just went over one day on my own so we can say goodbye and get high together one last time. 

I want her to fuck me. I’m sure of it. She’s always stopped us before it got to that, saying it’s not right, and I know I’m not good enough for her and I look like a fucking twig and I’m very obviously not a boy but...I want her to know I think about her when I listen to Milk (I’m waiting, I’m waiting for youuuuu) and I want her to keep me her secret friend like she has done all these years. She’s going away and she’ll forget about me. I’m fifteen and she’s the only person I really have apart from Mme Boucher and Miss Stevens. How pathetic is that! She doesn’t even know how important she is to my stupid little life.

I just wish I knew what was happening to me. I want to stop existing for a while, stop being like this. It’s like my body’s punishing me for being me. I’ve been handling it up until now but it’s just got so bad that I’m literally in despair and I don’t want my grades to suffer and I don’t want my teachers to start asking me if I’m alright or whatever. What could they do, anyway, if I told them just how not alright I am? I haven’t got a bug or caught a cold or something that can be cured. (Sometimes I hear Father Thomas’ voice in my head telling me it’s the sin inside me. I hate him so much.)

I don’t know what I’m going to do for the rest of the week. I don’t feel up to studying but I bet mom makes me practice my French and Russian grammar with her and sets me an essay or two. Drawing might calm me down a bit but the thought of picking up my pencil fills me with dread. 

What’s the point? 

I keep looking over at the tin of coffee beans I’ve got my stash in. Hidden in plain sight. I’m gonna get so high tonight. Maybe I should just be totally stoned all the time. The world is more bearable with strong weed and my beloved Shirley singing to me and Michele kissing me behind her garage.

Fuck everything. 

KZ :-(

-

Katya got home with her by her side. They rode in an Uber together and Katya went through the motions of it all, floating outside of herself, not quite seeing or believing what was happening. As they pulled up to the now-familiar green panelled exterior of her building and stepped out into the cooler night air, Katya felt the press of the ground beneath her feet and the tickle of her hair against her cheek as it swayed in the breeze. People often described it as coming back into the world but she thought it more like the world coming back into her, the elements pawing at her clammy skin, the push of her surroundings keeping her inside of herself, stopping her from spilling out completely. 

“You got your keys?” She said and Katya whipped her head around to face her. Her voice was purposefully gentle but not patronisingly so and Katya, properly taking her physical presence in, studied her flawless yet extraordinarily over exaggerated make-up, her short patterned dress in a cute sixties style, and her platform boots. Katya couldn’t quite decide whether her mind was capable of coming up with such a specific iridescent glitter applied over her blue eyeshadow. She needed to get inside. Away from her.

Shoving her hand into her bag, she rummaged around until she felt metal against her fingertips and pulled her key out. Just the one, no chain. She remembered to nod and began to dash to her front door. Footsteps followed her. Her hand shook as she brought her key up to try and fit it in to her lock. It didn’t go in properly, of course it didn’t. She couldn’t stop shivering and her teeth chattered.

“Let me.” The gentleness again.

Katya didn’t have the strength to push her away, though a part of her was desperate to make an impact and see for sure if she was really there or if her hand would fall through her like it used to. 

Katya watched powerlessly as she took the key from her loosening grip. She stepped back, afraid of the brush of their clothing, the whisper of a potential touch, and fixed her gaze on the backcombed beehive, the click and swing of her opening door. She led Katya in like she had control of the situation. 

“Sit down, I’ll get you some water. Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”

“No!” The desperation in Katya’s voice left her before she had the chance to even think about reigning it in. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She dropped her bag by her feet and lowered herself onto her sofa. It was positioned directly opposite her kitchen island and, behind it, the sink where she stood, having found a glass to fill up. 

“I think you had a panic attack.” Her voice came back, closer to her. Katya blinked and she was there, arm outstretched to hand her her water. “You hadn’t been drinking had you?”

If Katya had the energy to laugh, she would have split her sides. She took the glass instead. Their fingers didn’t touch. “No, no drink.” She took small sips, lifting her glass up each time and trying her best to make sense of the distorted shapes of the woman coming through it. Katya set the glass down and squinted up at her. Blinked again and again and again, squeezing her eyes tightly shut each time. She was still there, no matter how Katya looked at her. 

“If this is you having a stroke, don’t say I didn’t advise medical attention.” She didn’t remember her being this funny. Then again, she wasn’t in the optimal position for honing in on the details of years ago, in that moment. “Listen, I don’t know you, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I think you should go to bed, have a good sleep and keep drinking lots of liquids. I’m gonna write my number down and you’re going to message me tomorrow to let me know you’re, like, alive.”

Katya found herself agreeing, nodding in a feeble response. 

“Promise me, else I’ll come back here and check. I’ve only killed my brother, I don’t want to be responsible for another death.”

“What?” Katya couldn’t trust herself to have heard correctly.

“Ok, you’re not in the right headspace for joking, sorry. Bad timing. Just...please, get in touch.”

“I will.” Katya said automatically, then watched on as she pulled a receipt out from her purse, got out a pink pen and wrote her number on it. She picked up Katya’s glass, refilled it then placed it on the coffee table. “You should go.” Katya’s voice sounded stronger in her own ears than she thought she was able to manage. “Thank you for helping me.”

“It’s shocking, I know, but it seems I’m not a total garbage person.” With a smile, she turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind her. Katya was left with silence and an empty room and the kind of exhaustion that lingers like a bad memory. 

\- 

24th October 1997

Miss Stevens took on my idea from last year and started an advanced art club. The first one was on Thursday and was mainly made up of seniors, but I was there and there was another girl from the grade below me who I’d seen hanging around the art room at lunch sometimes. Although I was nervous about meeting new people, I knew Miss Stevens had my back and that everyone there would at least have one thing in common with me. Our first project was to create something with a hidden element to it, be it a trick of the eye, double layered paintings or, if you were making a sculpture or something like that, a secret compartment. 

I’m shit at sculpture, that’s something I want to try and get better at in the next couple of years. Miss Stevens said I should make sure to go to as many exhibitions as possible to see if I was inspired by anything and then she would discuss with me from there, and give me recommendations of artists to research or do some extra sessions with me during my breaks. She’s so amazing. I’m glad she’s straight (gross) and decidedly not attractive to me, or else I’d be in big trouble. I’ve had enough emotional turmoil already, thanks. 

I decided to paint a matryoshka (ha how stereotypical of the Russian girl, right?) but its ‘belly’ was filled with a fetus. Father Thomas’ sermon about abortion has been playing on my mind ever since that dreadful mass a few weeks ago. My parents and I had a massive argument after it and I couldn’t eat for three days. 

I didn’t quite know the best way to get my paint to cover over the fetus whilst still making sure it was visible to the viewer but a guy who goes by the name of Molko and who wears all black and a load of chains and black nail polish, he showed me. I don’t know how I hadn’t seen these people before around school, it’s not like it’s a massive place. I guess I just hadn’t been looking, or didn’t know what to look for. Either way, I think I’ve found my kind of freaks and weirdos. 

Molko and Jen invited me to hang out with them last night and mom was so happy that I was socialising she didn’t even set me a curfew. It was a BYOB situation but I could only swipe the fucking Goldschlager from the drinks cabinet in the second lounge that nobody ever goes into. I was freaking out that they’d think I was lame so I made sure to bring some weed too. I’d heard Jen talk about a painting she’d done whilst high that she looked at in the morning and was like WHAT THE FUCK, so I knew it wouldn’t be unwelcome. 

I had such a fucking good time!

Around them, my preference for leather pants and my gothic style rosary beads didn’t seem outlandish or too much. Michele never said anything to my face but I know that she was ashamed of being seen with me. That shit sticks, y’know. So I put on as much black as I could and, although they rub like absolute hell, wore my creepers that dad had sent all the way from London because I wanted them so much. They won everyone over, if nothing else. 

Molko had an empty house til midnight so we drank and listened to Nirvana and Marilyn Manson and a band called Curve I’d never heard of before but now I’m INTO. Jen made a throwaway comment about the female lead singer’s voice being hot but I didn’t want to get my hopes up that she meant it in the same way I would have. 

Once we were suitably trashed, we walked around the neighbourhood and found a little grassy area to sit down on and smoke. Jen had mushrooms so we took some (too many) and I spent what felt like hours staring at the blades of grass until I started seeing them do the can-can. It got cold at some point so we went back to Jen’s and we were all just lying there on the floor, rubbing our hands over her carpet like we were making snow angels. 

It was fantastic. I remember turning over and seeing the can-can in the carpet, but that time I could see actual women. Well, it was one woman repeated over and over like someone had copy and pasted her a thousand times. It was so strange because she seemed so tiny but so real, like I could have touched her with my fingernail and she would have tumbled over. I can still see her in my head now - beautiful bleach blonde hair, dramatic makeup that shaped her face and made her eyes look like black dots amongst the rest of her extravagant eyeshadow, a sparkly bodysuit that showed off her sexy curves and legs that reached up over her head as she kicked and kicked and kicked. Her lips were bright pink. I swear she even winked at me once. Jen and Molko didn’t see her but that’s expected. I think Molko was going on about incestuous butterflies or something. He’s hilarious. 

Wild night. 

I’m feeling rough as balls right now but it’s such a refreshing kind of rough. Not like I’ve been used to. I’m hungover and my hands are still a bit numb but I’m...good! I slept well, I don’t feel sick, I think I’ve made new friends??? Wow. 

It’s worth the potential telling off I’ll get about getting home so late. I told my parents where I’d be anyway so if there was a problem they could find me. I don’t think dad will be bothered at all. Mom will probably pretend to be but will hug me later and say she’s glad to see me happier.

I think I’m going to bleach my hair. The can-can woman has inspired me and Jen said she wanted to go blue over Christmas break. And I’m gonna suggest we go shopping sometime next weekend. Jen has a job but I don’t think she works all the time and I’m not sure about Molko but we’ll figure it out. Yay, I have people to figure plans out with now! Ha ha ha, I’m still a loser.

Ok, time to face the family…

KZ :-)

-

The first thing she did when she woke the next morning was take the box of diaries down to one of her garages, put it in the middle of the beige, concrete floor and determined not to think about it, look at it or touch it until she planned to start her renovations months down the line.

Then, she showered, stuck her hair up in space buns that she was absolutely not too old to pull off, thank you, and got dressed. She had slept surprisingly well, having been fearful that she would have spent the night completely tired out but unable to switch off. The light of day both helped her to start afresh, regain her balance, and also highlighted just how bizarre the previous night had been, if not downright terrifying. It was as if she was trapped no matter how she thought of it because there was undoubtedly no reasonable explanation either way. 

She had to get outside, soak up the sunshine and move forward, or in any direction that didn’t keep her stagnant. She therefore planned to find a good coffee shop, pull out the number she had been left and determine just how she would go on from there. Ultimately, Katya had to let the woman know she was alright. She didn’t want her to come back to her house, didn’t think she could face her again so soon, but she also couldn’t leave the situation unchecked. It was indisputable that she had a number on a slip of paper that she could hold in her hand and read as clearly as she could any of the long-loved books on her shelf or the local newspaper shoved in her neighbour’s mailbox. What she still wasn’t certain of was what she would receive from texting her.

Slipping her oversized, cat eye Gucci sunglasses on, she pulled up Google and searched for places nearby. She found a female-owned coffee shop called Shreebs with good reviews and a few tables outside to sit in the morning sun, and set off on her twenty minute jaunt. She thought about all the walks she had made in the past by herself as she turned right onto Berkeley Avenue, the bright green of the many trees dotted on the sidewalks and in people’s front yards too vivid for her just yet. She looked down at her feet, at her black and grey Sacai x Nike sneakers and the gum she narrowly avoided stepping in. Thousands, she estimated, thousands of similar journeys alone.

Once she’d ordered and luckily managed to bag a little table outside next to the shop’s charming pink wall and a tall, potted cactus, she got out the crinkled receipt and kept the corner of it weighed down by her iced latte. Then, she placed her phone next to it and performatively considered her options like she was the troubled protagonist in a subpar film. It was evident to her, what she would do. Of course Katya would message her. And, obviously, she would play it cool and not blurt out ‘oh and by the way, I’ve seen you so many times before that it’s as if I know you better than most people in my life, have a nice day!’ The whole thing was too inexplicable to share. With anyone. Ever. 

Forcing herself not to overthink her wording, she typed out a simple ‘I’m alive!’ along with her name and left it at that. She watched other customers discuss what they were going to order and tuned in to their conversations once they’d sat down or lingered in small groups before going to their cars. One woman had her yoga mat in its holder over her shoulder and Katya decided to go to a class later, maybe two. This was her life now, she huffed a laugh to herself - no bitterness, no contempt. 

Despite the strange occurrence that had planted seeds of doubt inside her, she was free. She had time she was excited to use and confidence to apply whatever she thought best for herself. And if she spent that day checking her phone every five minutes, she told herself it was alright, just a one-off to forget about in six months down the line when she had solidified her new routines and had the unshakable stability to dismiss the blip as just that. A blip.

\- 

4th January 1999

I saw can-can lady again. She wasn’t actually doing the can-can, but it was the same person. Her face was in the middle of the big plastic sunflower I was looking at. One minute it was this shitty garden decoration the family two houses down the road had put out, the next it was her. She had petals for hair and she emitted a radiant light that, I don’t know, I felt like I needed? It warmed me up and made me feel the kind of happiness I haven’t experienced in a while. True contentment. Peace! It was nice. 

I stabbed myself in the arm last night. I wish I had a proper reason to have done it but the thought just popped into my head and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and the pencil on my desk was practically glaring at me to use it, use it right then, right away. I tried to read but I could hardly see the words on the page in front of me. I tried to listen to music but the familiar rhythms let my mind wander over and over again until I just couldn’t get it back. I tried to resist. I think. But this deep down need in me won out and I found myself at 2am gripping onto my pencil and aiming it for the freckle (the one that’s larger than the others) near where my arm meets my wrist and the top of my hand. 

I watched as the blood trickled out and settled in a small, bubbled pool above the puncture wound. It was beautiful, how it didn’t run or spurt like I thought it would have. Instead, it was like there was an eruption that ran out of energy as soon as it had begun. Maybe I didn’t do it hard enough. For all I was desperate, my fear of pain restrained me at least a little. Now I can’t quite work out if I wanted to hurt myself, like a punishment, or if I was too curious for my own good. Or if it relieved the pressure within me. All I know is that I felt so much better afterwards. 

Before I cleaned myself up and put a bandaid on, I wanted to capture what I’d done. I got my new film camera and tried to get the settings right before I pointed my desk lamp to where the blood was and snapped two pics, turning my arm one way and then the other, careful not to mess up the roundness and sturdiness (???) of the bubble. Then I let myself play around with it, pressing my finger gently to the top of it and watching as it shifted and spread out. When I pulled back to look at it again, it had moulded into the shape of a heart. I took another two photos, and then a final one once the tail end of the heart shape began to run, getting caught on my arm hair and in the minuscule grooves naturally etched into my skin.

Molko and Jen have gone back to college so today blew, being back at school without them. Jen sold me some good shit though, before she left, hence why I saw can-can lady tonight. I’ve come down now. Unfortunately. 

Caroline isn’t so bad, really. I think I was a bit reluctant to spend time with her in case she thought I only saw her as sloppy seconds now my actual friends aren’t around. She wouldn’t be completely wrong but she’s really nice and she’s been teaching me about witchcraft (proper witchcraft - she goes to Salem with her aunt like every other weekend) and has lent me some of her books. She doesn’t have many other people to hang around with since Sarah Mortimer told everyone she was a witch who cursed anyone who came near her. She also said she had a wart on her pussy. That’s probably the rumour that actually got her ostracized, now I think about it…

God, I want to see can-can lady again. Is that weird? That’s weird if I have to ask my own damn diary if it’s weird. Jeez…

It’s just. That sensation I got. LSD and weed and mushrooms, they all make me feel a billion times better and more interesting and interested but this was something way beyond whatever I’ve experienced before. Maybe it’s the specific chemical makeup of what Jen had got or something. I don’t know, I’m not a scientist. 

Her manifestation is a gift. 

Shan asked why I had a bandaid on at dinner. I said I had an art related accident and that I’m officially done with sculpture. In fairness, Miss Stevens did say, last semester, that my strengths lay elsewhere. Actually I think she said ‘absolutely in anything other than sculpture’ ha ha ha ha! Like, I know she was just kidding around but it bothers me when I can’t get my head (and hands) around something. At least I’m well on my way to a 4.0 GPA. It’s just a shame no one cares about art in the real world. Fuck capitalism blah blah blah. 

I wonder what she’d say if I presented the photos I took last night, or used them somehow for an assignment. 

I didn’t smoke at all at school today. I must be a bit better. 

Ha.

KZ :-?

-

She didn’t receive a text back that day, or the day after. Or the day after that. 

Katya filled her schedule to the brim, as much as one could without a job or a partner. She had her bed frame delivered and assembled it herself. She bought a grey hoodie with a print of Offered Eyes by Shirin Neshat overlaid with persian poetry on the front and the figurines she had had her eye on in the gift shop at The Broad, which she also made sure to pass a couple of hours in, sketchbook left untouched in her bag. She went to yoga and found a personal trainer at a place called Equinox in West Hollywood, and set some fitness goals for herself whilst almost also setting up a pull up bar in the doorway to her bedroom. But her phone had buzzed and she abruptly forgot everything else. 

It was only Violet, however, inviting herself over that night for a bitch fest and sushi via postmates. Or poke. The choice was Katya’s, apparently. So Katya deflated and tried not indulge in the way her heart hammered in her chest. And then she replied and confirmed their plans and did everything else she possibly could until Violet’s arrival.

“Urgh, I leave for New York tomorrow and Fame still hasn’t got back to me. I know she’s busy with Laurent for the next Vogue shoot, which, by the way, sounds stunning, but a girl’s gotta know what outfits to pack.” Violet greeted her at eight sharp, swanning in and letting rip as soon as Katya had asked how she was. She didn’t mind one bit, preferring to listen to Violet’s first world problems than getting any opportunity to feed the fire of her own most-likely-insane ones. “The Gaultier people are having a soirée and I think I’ve pulled together something almost perfect since I found that vintage jacket in Paris, but I know she’s attending a Dior event that I want to get into, as well. Bitch got an invite but I didn’t—”

“She _does_ work with Dior all the time, you salty whore.” Katya cut in with a smirk, leading Violet to flop down on the sofa before going to the kitchen and opening a bottle of elderflower pressé. 

“Shut up.” Violet cackled behind her. “Anyway, I have, like, no recent Dior so Fame would need to both bring me as her plus one and lend me something and you know I don’t like leeching off anyone but I want to charm the great MGC enough to have us as a kind of,” Violet waved her delicate hand in the air as she searched for the right word, “Duo at next season’s shows. I have more online and viral impact and engagement and my instagram growth is always increasing by the minute. Fame’s the more traditional side of things and I represent the new, digital age of fashion. How could she say no to such a combination?”

Katya shook her head and tried not to break out a laugh, coming to sit down next to Violet and handing her a glass. “Have you talked to Fame about your idea?”

“Of course. She said as long as I don’t steal the limelight and we don’t get lumped together all the time, she would ‘love a buddy’. I think she’s starting to understand she needs to move ahead of the times instead of just with them.”

“Well, make sure to tell her I say hi and send my love, and that she’s welcome to visit me here whenever she has time off from being New York’s most sought-after supermodel.” Katya said with a tender smile. She always had a soft spot for Fame. They shared a profound connection, despite not seeing each other often and always being miles apart, the kind that came from understanding each other’s addictions because they had experienced the very same thing and both hid, undetected, amongst those so unaware. 

“I will. Did she tell you she came across your t-shirt when she was looking for that black and gold flapper style dress from the Gucci Spring 2012 ready-to-wear collection for a party? She joked to me saying she considered wearing it to her next photographed event to see how long it would take for you to find out. I said she’d be a dead model walking.” Violet tipped her head back as she laughed, exposing her long neck and pale throat. Katya knew the two of them never meant anything by such teasing and both itched to wear Katya’s designs again to try and get her back on the map, but Katya resented it nonetheless. She couldn’t think of anything worse, especially now that…

“Hey, Vi, that makeup artist from the show— do you have her number?” She didn’t mean to switch topics so suddenly but she knew, by now, after eight or so years of friendship, that Violet wouldn’t bat a pretty eyelid.

“ _Ohhh_ , miss thing!” She exclaimed, turning herself to face Katya properly, leaning in like a vulture expecting to prey on the latest piece of hot gossip. “I didn’t know you’d been so devious when my back was turned!” 

Katya rolled her eyes, pretended the redness of her cheeks was from embarrassment at Violet’s presumption, not because she was mortified from possibly having imagined that woman come to her aid, possibly having actually met her former favourite hallucination in the flesh. How was she to even go about breaching that kind of topic? 

Since the party, she had worried that she’d assigned her image onto another woman, unsuspecting and oblivious. But she _knew her_ , and no one else could look like that or could replicate what Katya thought she had originated. Surely. She had lost sleep wondering how she could clammer any sort of proper grasp on reality back from where she had regained it during recovery. And what exactly did it mean, to have seen her over and over and over again throughout the worst parts of her life and yet, just when she was most secure and strong in mind and body, she reappeared? Katya almost wished she was cursed, for that was better than the alternative. 

“It’s not like that. I had a...funny turn as I was leaving and she helped me get home.” She explained the rest of the events in the way she had come to do - on autopilot, to minimise the worry, cover up the abnormality. 

“Oh-kay...Naomi has her number, they’ve been friends for a while. I’ll ask her.” 

“Thanks.” Katya kept her voice level, refused to sink into herself, become small. It was enough of an act of discipline to refrain from asking Violet to message Naomi straight away, get some answers. 

They spent the rest of the evening going over Violet’s plans for New York and reminiscing about their favourite Manhattan cafes and gay bars in Greenwich Village, some of which had closed down or changed beyond recognition. Katya hadn’t visited since she lived there. She knew she’d go back one day, just not then. It was still too soon. 

She kissed Violet goodbye as it was closing in on midnight. She intended for a quick peck to send her out but Violet asked her to kiss her properly, like she ‘used to’. Katya didn’t refuse her, even if she wasn’t wholly in the right mindset, and backed her up against her front door, trapping her there with the press of her hip bones. She was much shorter than Violet and taunted her by refusing to strain upwards to meet her lips, instead making her dip her head further down than she thought could be comfortable. Those little power plays still got her wired. 

She licked into Violet’s mouth, curling their tongues together. Violet clutched at Katya’s waist, kneaded whatever she could get a hold of and panted into Katya’s sloppy kiss. Katya smirked, smug in the knowledge that no matter her downsides or her age or any inconsequential variable, she could make even the sternest unravel every now and then.

She kissed her again, running her hands up into her hair to hold her still as she ravaged her mouth. Katya sucked on Violet’s bottom lip, hard so it bloomed in natural colour, which she inspected in the moments she took for breath, to look upon Violet’s face with reverence. She didn’t find Violet beautiful. She was hot and cold and severe and Katya crashed back into her one final time to bite her lip and clash their teeth and show her she could turn it on whenever she decided. 

Katya went to sleep soon after and dreamt of the imprint of lips on her arm, revealing her very first infliction, opening up the wound like it was new again.

-

7th February 1999

They all ignore the facts, drown out contention with their insufferable voices, parroting the ultimate falsehood. I can float above them like an angel. My halo is my wisdom, but it only takes so long until I can feel their grasps at my ankles, their weight upon my shoulders, clamouring for my conscience. A force I never asked for, a guidance I don’t want. Unburden me! Let my spirit run free. I am not tied to inexistence. 

We ought to burn everything - every little thing - down into the ashes, smash the stained glass and scorch the cross and destroy the rosary beads, reinvent the monotony and conformity, obedience and ignorance. And, God! We should tear that tyrant down from the sky, rip him out of the minds that dreamt him up and unveil him as the lonely psychopath that he is, sneering down at us all. We should rape the priests and feast on the sacred scrolls for we are told to consume them with every fibre of our being, gnash our teeth and weep until our tears drown the Ark and rejoin the parted waves, pray until our hands are stabbed together and our false idols are nailed to planks of wood, splintered, repenting their idiocy and begging for mercy. 

We should overturn our universe so we look up towards Hell, away from where He is sitting on his throne of deprivation, control and vulgarity, from where He claims to be the healer, the miracle maker, the One. And we should bury our Utopia out of His sight, mock Him, and condemn His primitive ways. Then we would salute the sky before the whole planet transforms into our Heaven, built by mankind beneath the holy grounds, buried in the consummation between black weeds and soil and a scientific death. No fairy-tales of the afterlife, no lies and empty promises and perverse ideals and bipolar super-egos and the unnatural need to indoctrinate every human being to ignore their own conscience in favour of a fable’s bastardised instruction. No unanswered prayers and empty minds and emptier conformists infecting every advanced culture like a disease, spreading like a cancerous mutation in an otherwise high-functioning body. 

Amen to the gravest sin, to give hope towards truth, to love and life and liberation and to despair. A gift for the future deviates, to inspire other defectors and abdicators and heroes of the alternative. 

People need love but they feed on hatred much more easily. They tilt their necks to receive, don’t suspect the slashing blade. I know, I have always known, I will always know and strain to be understood. It is I. I am the way, the truth, the life, and I will not sacrifice my mind, body, soul, or my beautiful world to a false God. Eternity can wait.

KZ :-(

\- 

St. Vincent de Paul was beautiful both on the outside and in. Katya had meant to visit the African American museum but had been side tracked on her walk from the bus stop. She caught sight of the dome and the bell tower and felt that inescapable familiarity flutter within her whenever she saw a Roman Catholic church. It didn’t matter where in the world she was, there were always features she could pick out that reminded her of her childhood church, that she could guarantee would be recognisable throughout the continents to a million different people raised in the faith, too.

She walked over to the entrance and slipped inside. It being a Tuesday morning meant no sermons to invade. She no longer felt like she’d start burning up and frying on the spot, smoke curls arising from her heathen skin, if she entered a church as a mere visitor, but there was a time when guilt would seer through her and she found it difficult to reconcile. She didn’t believe - she actively resisted - but a part of her loved the dramatics and the gold and the processions and she had slowly begun to accept that her upbringing in Catholicism wouldn’t ever leave her. 

The dark wooden pews aligned in organised rows facing the altar, draped in white cloth and overshadowed, she thought, by the backdrop of iconographies of Jesus on the cross, of Mary Magdalene standing in service at his nailed feet and a matching, stylised succession of gilded portraits of the saints. The wooden lectern stood to the left, a bible on top open and waiting to be read aloud. Arching above her was the ceiling, wooden panels leading up to where the inner rim of the dome appeared, light from its windows shining down on the altar. It was all so purposeful and yet so unnecessary. 

Katya didn’t stay, she didn’t genuflect or sit and listen to the silence. She noted the architectural choices and the scratches and scrapes upon the floor and the benches where people, across decades, had sat then moved to stand or kneel. She appreciated it all for what it was, a grand building. Nothing more.

Upon her exit, she meandered in the shade of one of the palm trees in front of St. Vincent de Paul and checked her phone. Violet hadn’t got back to her, still. She took a few quick photos of the church’s exterior and posted them to her insta stories before making her way along the road to her intended destination. 

She wondered when she would have seen enough of the city to have nothing left to do. It didn’t seem feasible, to maintain the pretence of being an explorer for so long when she had bills she wanted to pay herself and boredom she absolutely had to keep at bay. On the other hand, LA was larger than she had remembered it being and she didn’t think she was capable of keeping up with all its new cafes popping up, restaurants gaining hype online and galleries changing their exhibitions every new season. She undoubtedly couldn’t be on top of (or, in Violet’s case, be ahead of) any kind of trend anymore. A part of her missed the version of herself who was up to date with her surroundings and was sometimes even at the forefront of them. All that came at a price she refused to pay, however.

That day felt surreptitiously pivotal in the new direction of her West Coast life. She wasn’t ready to make drastic decisions but, in that moment, looking up at the painted sun behind the stark, black letters of CAAM and the bright blue sky beyond it, Katya accepted the oncoming changes, whatever they were twisting and turning out to be. 

Wandering amongst the marginalised histories and expressions of her new home, Katya almost didn’t feel the buzz in her pocket, the deliverance of an intervention (divine or not) that she had been unwittingly holding back for. As she went to open up her new message, she hoped that its contents wasn’t another cross to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote that spiel about religion when I was 17 lmaooooo love that Catholic upbringing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pleased to announce that this chapter ramps up the gay! Enjoy :)))

Katya couldn’t decide how to feel. The number was the same, and seeing the digits that were written on that crumpled receipt were identical to those in Violet’s message soothed the phantom aches in her fingers. Nevertheless, an unease tumbled in her stomach. Why hadn’t she responded? She had seemed so adamant that night and Katya had clung to that like a fact, something she could be certain of.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. She managed to achieve her scorpion pose in yoga again after a month or so of not practicing and she tried her hardest to consider it a substantial progression. 

Katya settled in for the evening with her Netflix pulled up, her (takeaway) dinner in front of her and her nails freshly gelled and painted in her favourite, precise shade of red. She noticed the light of her phone but ignored it until she had finished her meal and the episode she was watching, critiquing the mise en scene aloud to herself and honing in on the lead actress’ wardrobe. She appreciated some of the stylistic choices but, like most times, felt as if the show’s team could have pushed it further. 

No one made their mark on things anymore, she grumbled to herself like the old woman she pretended to be sometimes, putting on a specific voice and jutting out her jaw like it was becoming unhinged. She thought Sex and the City was pathetic and it made her barf from how typically hetero it was, whilst framing itself as progressive for women, but she couldn’t deny that she used to religiously watch every episode just for Patricia Field’s magic touch. Iconic was a word that was thrown around a lot but Katya was adamant that despite the lack of depth in the show’s content, the painstaking attention to detail of its clothing was something to be completely enamoured by. It would go down in fashion history, if it hadn’t already.

For all she had distanced herself from that world, from the senseless consumerism and waste and rigid rules of what was or what wasn’t en vogue, it sometimes hit her how inescapable it was. She had a wardrobe fit to bursting with it. She had sketchbooks filled with twisted, skeletal zombie corpse models draped in an array of materials, constructions she never told anyone about. For as many times as she threw on whatever she fancied, she subconsciously pieced together looks that erred on the side of bizarre but were fundamentally rooted in the knowledge she had picked up in the past. 

She finally reached for her phone and unlocked her screen, reading the message Violet had sent with tunnel vision. “Naomi just told me your woman had a family emergency and had to rush back to Wisconsin. So don’t worry, fuck face. I’m sure she’ll text you back soon.” 

“You make me sound like a desperate high schooler!” She replied, satisfied that enough time had passed since she received the text for her response not to appear contradictory. 

“You’re fifty years too old for that.” Violet fired back.

“And yet you still want a taste of this decrepit pussy.” 

“Fuck right the way off. Anyway, keep me updated on the whole ‘I’m not interested in her I swear’ situation, k?” 

Katya rolled her eyes, wishing that was the reason behind all this. “Goodnight, Violet.” She added a string of irrelevant emojis to emphasise her point then flung her phone aside and slouched back into her sofa, letting out a big sigh. 

She didn’t sleep too well that night, waking up every hour or so to check her phone until she went and put it in one of her kitchen cupboards. When she still couldn’t catch it, she gave up and pulled out a new sketchbook from under her bed, as well as her tin of pencils and a flat board she used to use when she didn’t have a desk in her bedroom. She still needed to purchase one but, thinking she was giving herself an extended break from her art, hadn’t put it on any of her daily lists of things to do. 

She selected her 3B and began drawing a soft yet bold outline. She knew exactly what she needed to put down on paper and her muscle memory set to work whilst her mind held onto a certain image - her eyes meeting Katya’s, her cocky expression as she had caught her staring, her stupidly wonderful, gaudy outfit that Katya hadn’t had the capacity to appreciate in the moment, body shutting down from the sheer shock of _seeing_ her, really seeing her. 

She didn’t spend long getting the background sorted, a toilet cubicle hardly worth her time when she was set to capture the very thing she had whiled away hours over without a solid reference before. 

Her form was striking even on the page. Her broad shoulders and slimmer waist and long legs had haunted Katya but when she sketched them out, taking the time to shade where the light had been overshadowed by how she took up space, there was a sense of comfort, the kind only brought about by falling back into an old routine. As she concentrated on marking out the extremes of her makeup, switching to a 5B to capture the outrageous, thick and triangular eyeliner she had worn, Katya could forget about the former experiences and focus solely on the present, the vividness of a true memory. 

The sun had risen by the time she finished, bleary eyed and hair in disarray from where she had absentmindedly played with it or itched her head when surveying her work in intermissions. She placed her sketchbook, still open, on the floor and returned the rest of her materials under her bed before settling under the covers, her back to her drawing. It would be waiting there for her in the morning for her to potentially regret but, with everything that had transpired, she managed to reserve any negative thoughts. She held onto the glimpse of brightness coming through her closed curtains instead like it was a sign. 

-

1st July 2000

My high school years are finishing and everyone around me is celebrating and boasting about their colleges and I just feel like fucking Susannah Kaysen! (Caroline has brilliant taste in literature. I’m going to miss her and her recommendations. I hope she’ll miss the reflections I share with her and the funny drawings I give her based on our favourite parts.) 

Sarah Mortimer called me a dyke a couple of days ago. I slashed open my arm in study hall and licked up the blood just so people would talk about that instead. Even if I’m having concerns about what comes next, at least I have the assurance that I will never see that fucking bitch ever again. I wish I was the type of person strong enough in character to just fucking hit her, or at least coordinate a monumental practical joke on her. 

How come people like her sail through life with no concern for anyone else, and everything slots neatly into place for them? Like, she’s got into Wesleyan and she’s on her high horse about her summer internship at her dad’s law firm and her boyfriend is bending over backwards to continue their relationship as long distance when he moves away to wherever the fuck. It seems to me like the world as we know it is built especially for people like her. And then people like me spend their time feeling like they’re forever fighting a losing battle, like the tide is lapping at their feet ready to knock them over right onto their face. 

Dan said it’s normal to feel iffy about your college choice. Boston University seemed fine to me but now I’m so scared I’ve picked the wrong major. I know I’m a whiz at languages and that being able to speak a minimum of four will stand me in good stead in the future but...is that where my true passion lies? Do I sacrifice what I know is My Thing for stability and reliability and career prospects? Am I cheating by majoring in Russian when my fucking family is Russian and I already speak fluently? AM I WRONG FOR CHOOSING TO READ RUSSIAN LITERATURE FOR MY BACHELORS WHEN I CAN DO THAT AT HOME NO PROBLEM??? I just feel like such a fake. I think I’d feel like that no matter what major I took. I’m gonna sign up to the foreign language specialty community too, with a focus on refining my French and starting to learn Japanese. 

It’s all so overwhelming.

I keep looking at my cut. I am beyond an idiot - it’s summer and now I have to wear long sleeves all the time. I’m fucking sweaty as it is. I wrapped my arm up for gymnastics and luckily no one said anything about it because I acted like it was my wrist giving me a bit of grief during my back handsprings. Part of me wants to rip open the gash and pull all my skin off so I can wave it around and shout HEY I’M HUMAN JUST LIKE YOU. 

On the positive side of things, the dear parentals have given permission for me and Caroline to go hiking in Scotland over summer. We’re going to fly to London, have a week there and then get the train up to Edinburgh for a couple of days before setting off to wander the hills. We’re going to attempt Ben Nevis. I think we’ll be fine but I don’t think I’d be too sad to tumble to my death off the tallest point in the country. It would be quite nice actually. Poor Caroline, though, I couldn’t do that to her on her first trip without her parents. I might be insane but I’m not cruel. 

Caroline doesn’t touch drugs. She says she doesn’t judge anyone who does them, she’s just too scared. I can definitely understand her point of view and I would never ask her to try anything now she’s made it clear she’s not into it, but I’m fascinated by her unrelenting opinion. She is kind of like that, though. She knows what she wants and what she doesn’t. She doesn’t want a boyfriend, doesn’t want to go to college. She says her mom will flip but her aunt has said she’ll try and get her a job at one of her favourite witchy shops in Salem once she’s graduated high school. We laughed at my impression of my dad if I told him that’s what I was going to do. “Нет, Екатерина, нет нет нет!” 

I am looking forward to moving to Boston, though. Apart from the fact that Marlborough is lame, uncultured, middle class and very very bland and uninspiring, I also feel like it holds onto everything I’ve suffered with. I walk around my neighbourhood and remember the first time I knew I wanted to die because I was staring blankly through the window of the Carpenters’ house, into their dining room where Marianne was serving dinner to Rick and the children and it was so fucking sad to see that that’s how her life turned out, that she’s settled for such mediocrity. I go to the mall and am reminded of doing all my Christmas shopping without remembering a single moment of it and coming out into the cold night air and looking down at the bags in my hands not knowing what the hell was in them. And the woods...the place I made a makeshift noose with my scarf and only stopped myself getting into it because I was running late for gymnastics. 

It might be naive of me, but I’d rather spend my time hoping that a change of scenery will do me good than clinging onto the place in which I lost so much vitality. I don’t feel like a proper person. I go about my days pretending and then I come home and get baked and draw my woman and cry because I am not real. This isn’t how I’m supposed to be. I just want my life back, or to swap it with a new one. Maybe then I won’t waste away. 

KZ :-?

-

When Katya eventually got a reply, she was calm. She had been to yoga, she had organised to have one to one tuition in order to get back into writing and speaking Japanese proficiently, and she was in the throes of putting together the flat pack desk she’d ordered from Ikea in Burbank. She decided to take a little break to Google if Hemnes meant anything or if it was just a made up Ikea name (and was pleased to learn it was a municipality in Norway), when she received the notification from an unknown number.

“Hey, Katya, sorry for not replying. Things got crazy busy and I had to go out of town. Glad to hear you’re ok! Trixie xx” 

It had been a good day for her, and having the solid confirmation that _Trixie_ was a real human woman and not still a figment of her once-tortured imagination only made her happier. She finished off her desk, testing out the draws and setting her sketchbook and pencils and other assorted equipment on top of it, along with her trusty Flos Kelvin lamp. And because she was feeling so positive, she boldly replied, “Trixie, my knight in glittery eyeshadow! Would you be down for going out to dinner (my treat!) as a thank you for being so kind to me?”

It didn’t take long to get an enthusiastic yes and whilst a part of her knew she would have to very carefully mentally prepare for their interaction, she was also flattered that Trixie accepted so readily. They decided to meet for brunch the upcoming Saturday after backing and forthing over good vegetarian places that weren’t expensive (“A bitch is a self employed makeup artist living in a house share.” Trixie had written self deprecatingly alongside a row of persevering face emojis), settling on Cofax Coffee, which apparently did excellent breakfast burritos. Katya had looked up the menu and, upon giving Trixie her approval, commented how she was “always a slut for an iced vanilla latte”, which went down well. 

Katya therefore had two days to figure out what she needed to, plan her outfit and generally present the best version of herself as she could, so that Trixie would be none the wiser to her ulterior motives. 

She spent the rest of the day ringing her sister, her mom and dad and then her brother, who she saved until last because he had a tendency to put the baby on the phone to “talk” with her. She’d sent the cute little thing a thousand dollars for Christmas but apparently that wasn’t enough for Dan to stop his annoying new parent habits. She vowed to bribe _him_ if he tried again. 

Throughout her recovery and many, many therapy sessions, Katya came to understand that routine, keeping occupied with productive and fulfilling activities and specifically allocating her time enabled her to remain satisfied and keep her anxiety at bay. That Friday, she ensured she had a jam packed schedule up until the evening, when she allowed herself the opportunity to get her story straight, lay out her clothes and ride through any nerves that arose. 

She picked out a trusty black slogan t-shirt with ‘NYET’ printed across the chest, a pair of plum wide legged trousers by Ann Demeulemeester she loved because the silky material of them kept her ass from sweating (that was an essential factor in making herself as comfortable as possible) and a mustard yellow tartan scarf she had purchased when she happened upon Lochcarron, a tiny Scottish village, on her way to The Isle of Skye. She set out her black brogues which had a chunky heel and rounded toe, then went to wash her hair and fret within the confines of her shower.

It was no secret that she was a virtuoso liar. She had successfully lied to teachers, family members, friends, therapists, even the police, throughout her life, to varying degrees of severity. She had peddled the daily falsehoods of saying she was fine when she was quite literally dying, and she had, at certain points, spent more energy on telling people she wasn’t high (when she most definitely was) than on basic forms of self care. Now, she valued honesty and integrity more than anything else and tried her best to be truthful.

So, being faced with the eventuality that she would at least have to obfuscate a few facts when talking with Trixie had her jittery and fizzing with adrenaline. 

Saturday was blindingly sunny and, as Katya stood on the sidewalk in front of her house to call an Uber, she let the warmth of the rays shining down on her soothe her face. She actively unclenched her jaw and greeted her driver in the same way she planned on greeting Trixie, easy and breezy. It helped to rehearse. Her heart pounded the entire journey there, as much as she tried to distract herself with funny memes on twitter and by flicking through insta stories. Amy was posting a seemingly endless string of videos of her cats and Katya messaged her asking to come over sometime to pet them and see her, of course. Thinking of people other than Trixie (her name, and that she now knew it, still astounded her) was almost enough to settle her. 

The place they’d arranged to meet at was small and simple and Katya pushed through the front door, darting to a table by the window so she could see out and hopefully be able to catch a glimpse of Trixie before she saw her. 

Soon enough, two minutes early, Katya watched the bounce of carefully crafted, loose blonde curls and the dramatic flick of jet black eyeliner come towards her. Those were the characteristics that Katya had always fixated on in the past and now, with fresh eyes, she couldn’t help but repeat the same habit. She was beautiful, undoubtedly, and Katya would have been intimidated by it were she not somewhat desensitised now. 

Trixie walked with her head down, texting on her phone and remarkably dodging any other pedestrians like she had a sixth sense. Her short pink skirt and plain white T-shirt were simple but effective in subtly showing off her figure. Her statement earrings spoke for themselves and Katya liked how she accessorised so cleverly, her white vintage Barbie handbag was perfectly kitschy and complimented her overall aesthetic whilst not outshining the other components of her outfit too much.

Katya estimated she had twenty seconds to properly compose herself. She spent the time reminding herself that she did not know _this_ Trixie and— wow, her boobs were fucking perfect. _Shit_.

Then, Trixie barged through the door, saw her immediately and walked over to her, her swaying hips knocking off a menu from the side as she passed by. Katya stood, stupidly formal, and put on her best ‘I’m normal and fun’ kind of smile to greet her. “Hi.” 

“Oh hey, fancy seeing you here.” Trixie leaned in to give her a kiss on her cheek and Katya flatlined. Trixie was one hundred percent real - she _felt_ her.

“It’s almost like we organised it.” Katya replied, recovering quickly and sitting back down, gesturing to the seat opposite her as if Trixie couldn’t see it for herself. _Stupid_ , she cursed herself. Trixie was unaffected, placing her bag on the floor by her feet before pulling out her chair and perching far more delicately upon it than Katya thought fitting for her. 

“Almost. It was very kind of you to offer, by the way, it was no trouble seeing you home.” Trixie made direct eye contact as she spoke. Her false lashes fanned and spread and were so, so big, the kind Katya knew were a bitch to get used to. Katya assumed she wore them all the time. She’d seen so many apparitions of her and not one of them featured her bare faced and natural. 

“Well, it’s not every day I swoon into the arms of a beautiful stranger.”

Trixie’s laugh was harsh and unbecoming and so fucking loud. Katya couldn’t help but join in, it was just that effective. She watched other patrons out of the corner of her eye give them a judgemental glance and smirked to herself. 

They spent a good five minutes debating what to order despite knowing exactly what was on the menu from their extensive research of appropriate eateries via text. Katya went to the counter to pay for their breakfast burritos (veggie for Trixie, chorizo for herself) and iced lattes (normal and vanilla respectively, and Katya made a crude joke about how that was the only vanilla thing she preferred, setting Trixie off cackling once more). 

“Are you always like this?” Trixie asked her as she returned. 

“Oh this is nothing, bitch. Are you always like this,” She waved her hand about, “Barbie fantasy?” 

Trixie tossed her hair dramatically away from her shoulder. “Oh this is nothing, bitch.” 

They burst out laughing again and Katya didn’t think she’d used her face muscles so vehemently in such a long time. It was like she was high, sharing amusement at things only her little inner circle understood, the outsiders pretending not to be huffing at them in dismay.

“So you’re a makeup artist?” Katya asked after they shared a short, silent reprieve, taking each other in unabashedly. 

“Yeah, I trained at the Aveda Beauty and Wellness Institute back in Milwaukee but I’ve been working here in LA for, like, six years now.”

Katya was pleased to find out that Trixie was all too happy to talk about herself. She fielded question upon question without any resistance and, whilst their food was being prepared, Katya learned that she spent her late teens and early twenties studying Musical Theatre and working at the MAC counter, where she quickly became the best salesperson there thanks to telling it like it is and managing to charm all the middle aged white women. 

“Have you only lived there and LA, then?” Katya enquired as low key as possible. She was desperate to know if there had been even the slightest chance that she would have seen Trixie before in real life back in Boston.

“Ok, come for a bitch for not being well travelled!” Trixie exclaimed and Katya felt her stomach drop, momentarily afraid she had offended her until she caught the hint of her cheeky smile. “No, just Wisconsin and LA for me. Once I got here, there was no way I would want to be anywhere else. What about you?”

“Boston, New York for a bit, back to Marlborough—”

“Like the cigarettes?” Trixie interrupted, leaning forward and placing a hand on the table in front of her.

“Yeah, it’s like it was my fate to end up a smoker.”

“Gross.” Katya watched her face screw up comically. Her foundation was thick and her contour was harsh and it somehow resembled a straight stripe across her cheek from afar, yet, up close, turned out to be meticulously blended. She didn’t have many wrinkles, clearly younger than Katya, but the smile lines around her mouth were deep set and made more obvious by the heavy application of her makeup. She was so fucking memorable, Katya thought. Even if she hadn’t dreamt her up, or whatever the fuck she had done, Katya would have determined to learn her face off by heart nonetheless, print it onto the inside of her eyelids so she could see her again and again and again. 

The barista came over with their food and drinks. Katya murmured a thank you and watched Trixie tuck in with abandon. 

“You ever been to Boston?” Katya couldn’t even begin to think about eating until she heard Trixie’s answer to one of the many questions playing on her mind. 

“No,” She said around a mouthful of burrito, “Getting to McDonald’s was enough of a struggle when I was younger - a full on hour’s drive - so anywhere beyond the state was unthinkable. I really am that country bumpkin piece of shit, y’know, you better be sure you can handle it.” 

Katya wheezed out a laugh, Trixie’s turn of phrase enough to waylay her for the time being. The absoluteness of Trixie never having been in Katya’s proximity before was a harrowing truth that she acknowledged would only intensify once she could properly sit with it. Until then, she was enjoying her company, so differently than she used to.

“I’ve handled all sorts in my time, I’ll have you know.” Katya quipped with an over the top wink, sucking on her straw simultaneously and gulping down her coffee. 

“Now we’re getting to the good stuff. Dish the dirt, Maria!” 

As much as Katya wanted to inundate Trixie with innuendos and bad jokes, Trixie barely gave her the opportunity, cutting in with funny stories of her own and having them both in stitches from how fucking hilarious she was. 

Katya noted how Trixie tucked her chin in from the unalloyed force of movement from her laughter, how she raised her hands in front of her face or flapped them about whenever Katya said something particularly dirty or ludicrous. Katya didn’t even realise she had finished eating by the time Trixie was getting to the crux of a tale about people queuing up for a ticketed event she worked at and lamenting, “That’s gay people for you, like, ‘things can always go south!’” Suddenly Katya was very conscious of her empty mouth.

Katya estimated that Trixie dominated roughly eighty percent of the conversation, and that was absolutely perfect. Katya had become an expert at giving tidbits of information about herself here and there without having to delve into the deep stuff, the kinds of things that brought about concerned looks or overly performative reassurances of acceptance, which fooled everyone else into thinking they knew her. When explaining what she meant to Violet once, she emphasised that she didn’t mean it in a judgemental way, but it was evident that people were more than happy to rabbit on about themselves without realising the imbalance of the interaction. 

Such ignorance had facilitated Katya’s talent of going undetected. She was a good listener and, because of her experiences, she possessed a wealth of solutions that she was all too happy to share when friends and acquaintances came to her for advice. She wasn’t exactly reliable but she was loyal and wise and could always point someone in the right direction, even when she couldn’t navigate the same problem herself. 

Trixie eventually got round to asking Katya what she did. It was rather unfathomable, why she decided in a split second to be frank with her, but she did, laying it out on the table like the remnants of their meal.

“I practice yoga, I explore the city, I’m a bit of a linguist so I’m trying to keep up my studies of French and Japanese, and I can speak Russian fluently too. I like art and I’m partial to the world of fashion when I’m not having a funny turn after a show. I don’t have a job and I, uh, probably won’t for a while yet so I’m just, y’know, finding things I like about LA and disregarding the rest.”

She couldn’t pinpoint what did it exactly, but the mood changed. Not unpleasantly. Far from it, in fact. It was like the air between them thickened, became more charged, and the way Trixie regarded her was different too. She took the time to let her eyes roam over Katya’s face and Katya, in turn, followed the minute movements she made, how she absentmindedly pushed an errant curl into place or let her hand become more lax in her lap. Her facial expression was blank but the glint in her gaze forewarned Katya that she was about to say something purposefully inciting. 

“You’re really quite interesting, aren’t you? I should stop interrupting you and let you speak. Within reason though, right? Else you’d be forty five minutes into a lecture on, I don’t know, capitalist subliminal messages in children’s cartoons and I’d have withered away.” 

“Damn, you’ve got a read on me.” Katya joked, the way she intended when she wanted someone to feel like they really had got a gasp on her whilst quite the opposite was true. 

Except, Trixie wasn’t totally off-piste. 

Trixie looked triumphant and Katya couldn’t deny her, not completely. For all she had set out to glean as much information as she could about Trixie for her own peace of mind (or her own private scrutiny), she had forgotten, here and there, to be investigative, too busy being enthralled.

“Tell me about yoga, then.”

That was safe. Katya visibly enlivened, her posture straightening. 

So she did, she told Trixie about when she started, transitioning from gymnastics, and how it made her feel (satisfyingly tired out and energised all at once) and that she had always had strength and flexibility but it was her breathing that continually needed work, giving her enough of a challenge to stay interested. “I’m a certified bendy lady.” She finished with a grin and a flourish, and Trixie hummed in response.

They spent the rest of their time coming up with increasingly extreme ways they would have to get Trixie into certain poses and, before Katya knew it, over two hours had passed and she found herself hoping to spend more time with her, be it then or at another date. 

“Thanks again for treating me, you didn’t have to.” Trixie said after a natural lull in the conversation. 

Katya stared into as much of her eyes as she could. “Thank you for seeing to me.” 

“Anytime.” Trixie simpered. They both snickered. “Listen, I was thinking of driving to Malibu beach sometime next weekend, now Spring has sprung. Want to come?” 

A warmth spread from the pit of Katya’s stomach up to her fluttering heart. “Sure.” 

“I’ll text you, yeah? I can come and pick you up whenever’s best.”

“I’m free both days.”

“Saturday, midday then?”

“That’s good for me.”

And it was.

-

25th July 2000

The whole town sleeps because it’s Sunday and civilization hasn’t quite polluted it just yet. Shops are locally owned and their produce comes directly from the farms half a mile down the winding, country road. I have eaten haggis and got drunk off Scotch Whisky and snorted coke in the bathroom of a pub older than God herself, and I went down on Caroline as the sun rose over the hills so the light shone, faint but golden, onto her scrunched up face. She came and I felt it in every part of me. She’s not looked at me since.

I spent today re-reading the poems of Anna Akhmatova, comparing Caroline’s book of English translations to my own. We speak two very different languages, that’s for sure, but the nuances between them are what, to me, create something far more interesting than the originals alone. It’s frivolous not to explore the spaces in between words, the parts we can’t verbalise unless we’re entwined. I am not romantic, nor Romantic, but I have spent too long cowering under Catholic prudence not to relish in a good fuck.

We’re sharing a room at a B&B near the ferry port on the Isle of Arran. We hiked Goatfell yesterday and came back with a bottle of Scotch from the Co-op, exhilarated and wind swept and sweaty. We lay on our bed, not bothering with glasses, drinking for practically every breath we took and giggling like we had achieved something remarkable. The peak was only eight hundred metres or so high but I felt the tightness in my lungs nonetheless as the air thinned out. Caroline constricted my throat, too, as she undressed for her bath in front of me and left the door to our room open so the steam swirled out in tempting tendrils.

I got in with her, reciting Bound for Hell by Marina Tsvetaeva before tracing ‘lost in nights of starlight’ in cyrillic on her bare chest with my wrinkling fingertip. After we dried off, I spread her out on top of the duvet and kissed her like she asked me to, rough, passing the last mouthfuls of whisky beyond her open lips. I licked up the final drops, licked up her core, up her dripping cunt and buried myself between her shaking legs. She wasn’t quiet but I commanded it all. 

Her needy hands ran all over me, cupping my boobs and clinging on to my back, and I was wetter than I had ever been. When she sucked on my clit, I saw the starlight Tsvetaeva referenced. And then I stopped seeing Caroline underneath me. I saw blonde hair instead of black, crooked teeth instead of straight, unreachable instead of that which I could so easily touch. She was there and I came so fucking hard.

Caroline went out earlier, said she needed some air. She could have inhaled half of the world’s oxygen supply in the time she’s been gone. Meanwhile, I’ve had two blunts to try and chase my vision. Sometimes I think I should be concerned about outstretching my arms in an attempt to grasp her only to find vast empty space, so very lacking. 

They’ve both left me for now, anyway. 

Oscar Wilde wrote that the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it and I believe Caroline should know better by now than to be ashamed or scared of what we did. I assumed, anyway, that she was stronger, less consumed. It’s not as if sleeping together means anything complicated. For me, it means pleasure and exploration and shaking off the shackles of a heterosexual society and a church that would rather little boys be raped by the so called holy fathers than to bless healthy expressions of sensuality between two consenting adults. I am guilty of philosophising but, in this instance, I don’t see her need. She’s above it. And I’m pulled under by how she kisses, how she likes to be scratched. 

I haven’t told her how I do too - but only when I do it to myself. That’s a different affliction. I’ve muddled her enough. 

The scar on my arm faded a long while ago, surprisingly quickly for how much the cut bled. It was deceptive. It wasn’t deep. I can’t even cause harm in the right way. It healed infinitely quicker than the sickness of my mind, than the internal, unmendable, unreachable hurt I experienced at my own hands (my own blade). If Caroline doesn’t return, I have her razor and that might be a suitable replacement. 

Or, I could take on a new identity, master the Scottish accent and become a Macdonald or an Anderson and spin my own tale, so enrapturing that, in hundreds of years time, I would be regarded as a local legend, as infamous as the Loch Ness Monster herself. I could wander the hills in long flowing skirts, let my hair grow beyond my waist so my curls caressed the blankets of heather and thistles, and I could burn my passport and destroy my credit cards and throw my Nokia into Loch Lomond so no one would ever discover me. 

I think that’s why I’ve bristled from Caroline’s reaction. She is the only person who, recently, has ever come close to truly knowing me. Touching her and being touched by her felt like we achieved a greater understanding of each other and of life itself. It was RIGHT and GOOD and

She came back. She kissed me, said it was alright, she just needed to think. There was a lot to think about. 

I soon put a stop to that - cleared her head by giving some…

KZ ;-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honour of Trixie's latest single (which, fuck me, is a BOP), our gals go to Malibu beach. I had so much fun writing those parts! I'm sure you'll be able to tell which parts I didn't have as much fun writing but hey ya gotta have a balance of sour n sweet eh...
> 
> Enjoy and thank you for reading :))))

Katya never knew what day it was. It was, in a way, like she lived one long weekend where time was entirely her own and her only constraints were other peoples' schedules and what was considered convenient or not by the general populous. The preciousness of Saturday and Sunday was lost on her now every day was hers, not controlled by a boss or a rota or the pressure of making money. She was in an extremely privileged position but she never managed to get round to dwelling on the potential moral implications.

After her brunch with Trixie, she had gone home and tried to process - she was physically real and there was no chance that Katya had spotted her in Boston, so she couldn’t have ever subconsciously fixated on a pre-given image. What Katya found, most surprisingly of all, is that, as she got to know Trixie and talked and laughed with her, she wasn’t capable of manifesting the worry that she had been experiencing previously. She didn’t want to jinx it, knowing how she could have delayed reactions to all sorts of things, never mind one of the most standout mysteries of her entire life, and so she carried on like it all wasn’t monumental, waiting for her mind to catch up with her. 

“Tell me everything!” Jason exclaimed across the gym as she rounded the corner from the changing rooms. 

She cackled in response. “Nope, you’ve gotta work for it.” She pranced over to the mats where Jason was setting up for their session. He was expensive but he was the best personal trainer she’d ever found and, in the couple of weeks since starting with him, was also quickly becoming a friend. “Get me sweaty and then you might get something out of me.” 

“Girl, who are you kidding? We all know how little it takes for you to get sweaty.” He pulled her in for a tight hug and Katya smiled into it.

“I can’t argue with that. Right! What torture have you got in store for me today?” 

Katya spent the subsequent hour laughing into her banded pull ups, getting affectionately told off as Jason corrected her form during her box jump to pistol squats and cursing the exercise ball he insisted on her using for hamstring curls. 

“Have I earned the gossip now?” Jason asked with his hands on his hips, looking down at Katya as she lay, collapsed on the floor after he gave her handstand thigh taps to finish. 

“Fuck.” Katya panted with her arms crossed over her beetroot red face. “Fine!” 

Jason had a spare hour before his next client. They went down to the Sweetgreen near Equinox for a salad and a proper chat. 

“I’m seeing her tomorrow. She’s picking me up to go to the beach.” Katya revealed as they walked arm in arm up to the counter to order. 

“You have a _date_ and you’ve had the cheek to keep that from me?!” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not a date. I think she figured I don’t have many people to, y’know, hang out with. She’s just being friendly.”

It was Jason’s turn to roll his eyes. “Is she gay?” 

“I’m not sure.” That was a lie.

“Nails?” He quirked his overly arched eyebrow once they’d got their food, sitting across from her so she was facing the sunlight beaming in through the large glass storefront. 

Katya practically screamed, tapping her feet on the floor as she broke into hysterics. “It doesn’t always work like that, you dirty boy!”

“You checked though, right?” Jason tilted his head, all knowingly.

Katya just gave him a look, sending them both into fits of laughter once more. 

“Well, date or not, you’ve got my number. I expect running commentary. Or at least a proper report after it’s over.” 

“You’re truly terrible, you know that?” She suddenly got overwhelmed by how much the opposite was true. “I promise to message you, whatever happens.” 

“I think this will be good for you. I sense it, I feel it in my waters!” He emphasised his point with a flick of his fork, accidentally flinging a tiny piece of lettuce to the floor.

“That’s called a UTI and you should get that seen to.” 

That night, Katya made the weekly calls to her family and informed her mom of her plans to meet up with Trixie. She felt like it was a blessing and a curse to be doing so. Sometimes she hated how she subconsciously showed off normal social behaviours, like she still had to prove she was functional. Sometimes she was able to be proud of herself for venturing in new directions. 

She checked her messages and fell into the comfortable routine of setting out what she needed for the morning. Trixie was picking her up at midday and they texted to confirm Katya was still up for it. She hung up a black linen jumpsuit from J Crew on her bedroom door so it didn’t get creased overnight, selecting a lightweight black Ann Demeulemeester cardigan to go with it and placing her sneakers by her mirror, in front of which she spread out her makeup in order of application. She nudged it all in line with an equal mix of anticipation and anxiety. 

Opening her sketchbook, Katya studied her drawing of Trixie, trying to see it for what it was instead of an unabridged connection to the hundreds that preceded it. Trixie, two dimensional and still, stared back at her, an amalgamation of all the faces of her Katya had conjured up. They didn’t compare to the real thing, despite how identical they were. 

She took hold of a pencil, turned over the page and wrote in purposefully illegible handwriting, ‘I don’t know who you are but I know who you are. Will you want to know me after what I’ve done? Let the tide decide the raging of the waves. I’ve been a shore to waste away. Can I rebuild now you’re here?’

-

7th November 2000

These four walls hold my pain. I don’t let it out for others to play with, my persona locks it and leaves it behind like it’s a precious stone, weighing heavy, too glaring or delicate for exposure. 

I am not happy here but I cannot quit so soon. That would be admitting I have a problem, that I create more problems for those I want to forget I exist. I like my professors, I like the material and I will always hold linguistics close to my struggling heart but I want to be standing in Boston Common yelling my vexations one after another in one language after another so I do not have to hide but I can protect my sincerity under the guise of performance. Art is the only way out. I should have been more aware of myself.

I have too much time, as well. My classmates have jobs, bond over contending with paying for food and rent whilst keeping up with their reading and assignments, and all I have is the luxury of wallowing. There are some days I am so anxious, I can’t move an inch for fear of something going horrifically wrong. I stay in bed and pretend I’m dead because I’ve not become brave enough yet to actually die. I watch the clock because if I lean over to grab a book my mom might fall ill or I might cause world war three. It logically makes absolutely no sense but, all the same, I understand because I am me and I do not contribute worth, only take it away. Who’s to say that won’t materialize in the extremes? 

I spent all of last weekend high, wandering the streets alone and rummaging amongst the garbage like a hobo in search of her. I went to the gay village and hooked up to find out if I could summon her with my fingers inside another woman or with another woman licking into me. No. She hasn’t come to me since I’ve been here and I’m scared she’s been left behind in Marlborough and the only way I can get her back is to go back there. I cannot go back there. They will see how I’ve failed. 

I haven’t called home in two weeks. When they call here, I don’t pick up. Dad left a message saying if he doesn’t get a response from me by tomorrow he’s going to drive here after work to make sure I’m alright. Fuck...I’m going to ring them at 5:55pm (I need change). It’s 4:23 now (I have too much time I have too much time I have too much time).

Disappearing into nothingness sounds like everything I’ve been waiting for. I’m sick of being sick in the head and I can’t picture two more years after this. 

Someone was murdered near my campus building. Not a student. I don’t know the details. I just read it in the paper on the newsstand in a daze and wished I could have swapped places with them to give them their chance at something meritorious. I think about death more than almost anything else. I think about her more than death because I don’t know how to live.

KZ :-( 

-

Trixie drove a Smart car. Katya burst out laughing when she stepped outside and saw the mini white vehicle parked up on the sidewalk in front of her house. Her hands, which had been shaking, ended up slapped against her thighs as she bent over, mouth wide and baring her teeth.

“Get in, you fucking bitch!” Trixie yelled out through her open window, giant pink sunglasses with diamantes on the frames covering most of her face. 

Katya jogged to open the door and slide into the passenger seat. She put her bag between her legs before turning to face Trixie and laugh, this time alongside her. Trixie leaned in, like she had previously, and kissed Katya’s cheek in greeting. Katya tried not to smile too much, didn’t think about the warmth blooming inside her whenever they made contact. She didn’t want to have to pick apart whether she was reacting to Trixie being _there_ or something entirely new, something beyond that.

The journey to Malibu beach took just over an hour. Trixie didn’t ask if Katya minded her music playing but she didn’t have it blasting. Katya asked how Trixie’s week had been and Trixie relayed stories of her clients, of working on a music video shoot and getting to go to Salvation Mountain for it. She’d also bought a new vintage Barbie and she made Katya help her decide which of her several doll houses it should go in. Katya knew nothing of Barbies beyond that they were supposedly plastic and fantastic but she nonetheless enjoyed how Trixie detailed its assigned personality and fashion sense. 

It was a royal pain in the ass trying to find a parking space and Katya wheeze laughed at Trixie’s road rage and general anger at stupid drivers. “God! If I wanted a painful experience I would have had my dad fuck me with his monster dong.” She (hopefully) joked as she finally pulled into a vacant spot. 

“Oof, that’s rotted, mama.” Katya tried to check her lipstick in her phone’s front camera. Trixie cracked her up and, to her surprise, she found she had the same effect on her.

“Especially as I don’t have a dad.”

Katya left her cardigan in the car then made sure to pay the meter for Trixie, even when Trixie protested. Katya suggested they go to Malibu Farm Restaurant for lunch to get a good view of the ocean before exploring the rest of the beach itself.

“Sure.” Trixie said.

“My treat.” Katya stated - didn’t offer - as she took in the shimmering sea, so bright it almost appeared white, blending into the horizon in particularly dazzling spots. When Trixie didn’t reply, she turned back to her. Her arms were folded and her brow was visibly creased. “Everything ok?”

Trixie sighed. “I hope you’re not still, like, trying to pay me back for what happened.”

Katya frowned, that never once crossing her mind. “No, why would you say that?”

“You bought brunch last time, you paid the meter. You don’t need to bribe me or whatever.” Trixie made impenetrable eye contact, direct, just like she was overall. 

Katya shook her head. “Mama, if I wanted to bribe you I would find the pinkest, girliest, most outrageous vintage Barbie, not pay your parking.”

Trixie let out a screech. “At least let’s split the bill this time.” 

“Of course.” Katya placated her. 

They made their way to the pier, bare arms brushing every so often as they drifted closer together, passing other people like they were invisible. It was easier than Katya had assumed, to fall into a sense of normality with Trixie as if they really had just met and were getting to know each other. Then again, Katya reminded herself, to Trixie that was exactly the case.

Trixie wore a cute gingham dress with ruffled shoulders and a low cut square neck. Katya was reminded of the PJ Harvey song she used to listen to repeatedly for hours as she completed her sketches. Trixie was almost spilling over like a heavy loaded fruit tree, yet she was the antithesis of femininity for male consumption. She exuded _femme_ in the extreme, in a purposeful way so as to challenge and confront. Katya admired her aesthetic and decided it would do no harm to tell Trixie so. 

“Thank you.” Katya didn’t expect such sincerity from her. “Coming from you, that’s…” 

They weaved in amongst the queue of people waiting for a table at the restaurant.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re intimidatingly striking and fashionable and, like, all grown up.” Trixie gestured up and down Katya’s body. A brief guilt washed over her for having fooled Trixie, too.

“You’re a little bit country, I’m a little bit garbage.” Katya sang purposefully out of tune, making some of the people in earshot look around at them. Trixie grabbed her arm and turned her face into Katya’s shoulder to try and keep composed. Katya couldn’t resist smelling her hair, leaning her body into Trixie’s. 

They were shown to a table after an annoyingly long wait. Katya hadn’t considered how busy the place would be on a Saturday so she had kept Trixie entertained in the meantime by showing her the insta stories she had archived from LAFW. She had explained why she was there and Trixie let out a very displeased ‘ugh’ at the mention of Violet’s name, which made Katya laugh and message Violet to tell her she had been a bitch, to which she responded, “Duh! Always! Which particular instance are you referring to?” Katya showed Trixie, which seemed to work in easing the spike of vitriol Violet had inadvertently evoked within her. 

“How ever did you meet someone like Violet?” Trixie asked once the waiter had brought their menus and filled their glasses with ice water. 

“In New York, of course. How did you get to work on that busted face of hers?” Katya retorted to Trixie’s delight. 

“Through Naomi.” Trixie explained who she was not knowing Katya had met her. “I feel for girls who don’t have any connections in this city. I’d still be working at the counter at least part time if I didn’t know a few of the right people. It’s such an injustice.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” Katya said, more in solidarity than from personal experience. “Do you want wine or anything? I don’t drink but don’t let that stop you.” 

Trixie flicked through the menu and Katya studied as much of her face as she could when most of it was obscured by pink. “No, I’m good. I’d be asleep on the beach if I have a glass and I’d be crying about dying alone if I have anymore than that. Be thankful I’m sparing you.” 

Trixie ordered the grilled vegetable sandwich and Katya ordered the roast chicken and Trixie poked fun at how healthy Katya was, teetotal and only eating white meat. If only she knew, Katya thought. “I know,” She said instead, “I’m so perfect, I put everyone else to shame.” 

They discussed more of LAFW, never quite touching the topic Katya was fearful of having to lie about. Their meeting in that bathroom taunted Katya, how she fell to the floor and lost control of herself in front of Trixie was something she was not ashamed of, but she deeply feared confronting. 

“I’d only caught a quick glimpse of you when Violet left. I remember thinking, wow, I would much rather work on a face like yours. Your cheekbones are stunning, and your eyes are deep set, which can be challenging when creating dramatic eye looks but, fuck, yeah. Maybe I could do your makeup one day, if you ever wanted that.” 

Katya wasn’t one to blush, but then, under the heat of the sun and the intensity of Trixie’s compliments, her face flushed uncontrollably. “I wouldn’t be averse to that, if you could stand being around such grace and dignity up close.” 

Trixie threw her head back as she scream laughed, her loose blonde curls slipping behind her, exposing more of her décolletage. Katya averted her eyes. 

When their food arrived, Katya focussed on her plate, on the neat presentation and the sharp flavour of fennel. Her stomach wasn’t quite settled enough to enjoy it all properly, but it helped to compartmentalise the tastes and textures.

After lunch, for which they paid half and half as agreed, Katya led Trixie down to the shore. She took off her Nikes and shoved her no-show socks into them, leaving them a good distance away from the sea with her bag and wriggling her toes into the sand. Trixie put her shoes next to Katya’s and they made their way into the water together, ankle deep and cooling. Katya almost reached out to take Trixie’s hand. She didn’t know whether the urge was to anchor herself or keep Trixie anchored to her.

“What makeup would you do on me, then?” Katya asked as she started prancing around in the sea, bending forward and straightening one leg behind her so she was in warrior three pose, spotting odd stones and shells beneath the surface. 

“A softer look, I think, get on some pinks and rose golds and a neutral lip, subtly lined to emphasise your natural shape. You’ve got the features, I wouldn’t need to do much really. I mean, I don’t _need_ to do anything on anyone, ever. Makeup is just fun. It shouldn’t be an expectation.”

Katya stood upright, caught Trixie rapidly looking away from her. “It can be an art form to people, it’s almost the same as drawing. It’s just...on the face.” She said. _So profound_. 

Trixie nodded in agreement and started twirling around, slowly and half-heartedly at first then, upon seeing Katya mirror her movements, with more drama and flair. Soon they were both giggling as they spun and spun and spun with their arms open wide and their feet splashing water up their legs. Every so often their hands would crash into each other and Katya luxuriated in those brief moments of contact, reassuring her that she wasn’t entirely crazy, that this beautiful person next to her existed for herself, not for Katya’s mind or for anyone else. 

-

30th March 2001 

Mom called last night about my credit card statements. She was looking through them because my spending had kept going up and up and she wanted to make sure everything was in order. I’ve been going out pretty often with a few of the people in my Japanese classes. They’re big drinkers. I guess I hadn’t realised I was picking up the tab a lot more than they were. 

Mom was nice about it but she said that I shouldn’t overcompensate. “If they’re truly your friends, they’ll want to be around you no matter how much money you’ve got or what activities you do together. You don’t need to pay for their company.” Damn. She’s got me thinking now. Have I always done this? Have I subconsciously been too generous because I think I lack in other areas, so I dish out the dollar to keep people sweet? 

We agreed that I would try to stick to a budget and that, next time I go out with everyone, we just pay for our own drinks and that’s that. 

None of it matters anyway, really - I’ve decided I’m quitting. Jen got in touch. She must have got my number from my parents, I don’t know. Anyway, she’s a part of SIM at Mass College of Art and Design, said it’s incredible and that I would fucking love it there. I visited yesterday after class and it seemed RIGHT so I’ve (very impulsively) enrolled for next semester. They accepted me straight away because of my grades and because the portfolio I brought along was, apparently, very promising. Now all I need to do is formally pull out here and tell the family. It’s a good job I’ve been having a good couple of weeks else I think I would combust otherwise.

The rash on my face has finally cleared up. The doctors gave me Accutane and I kept taking way too much in one go. She came to me like a guardian angel after one particularly big dose and she brought her hand up to my face. She didn’t touch it (who would?) but caressed the air an inch or so before me and the happiness that spread from her phantom fingers seems to have lasted much, much longer than she herself did. I cried when I blinked and she had gone. I’m so lonely. 

But it’s ok, at least I’ve had some external validation. Now I know my art isn’t a complete dumpster fire of self indulgence and it might actually be worthwhile pursuing... 

KZ :-/

-

After scrubbing their feet of sand and visiting Adamson House Museum, admiring the Spanish tile work, Katya suggested they walk the opposite way along the Pacific Coast Highway to where the beach houses were. “I read on Google that you can get to the quieter parts of the beach from, like, in between the houses or something, is that right?”

“Yeah, it’s a thirty minute walk or so. Let’s get Starbucks, first. I’m a thirsty bitch.” Trixie grinned cheekily. 

“Oh are you now?” 

With iced coffees and brownies to go, they set off, passing the beach they’d been on on their right and restaurants and hotels to their left. 

“You seem like the type of person who’s been to Nobu. Is it worth all the hype?” Trixie asked as they caught sight of the trendy restaurant. 

“I went years and years ago, just before it blew up as this a-list celebrity hot spot but I haven’t been recently. It was quite good but I’ve had much better food in much less expensive places, so it wasn’t mind-blowing, considering my expectations of it. I always say expectations are premeditated resentments, anyway.” Katya rambled, squinting into the sun before darting her eyes to Trixie, who was smiling to herself.

“Wise words.” She quipped. 

“Yeah, I think I should release a book of inspirational essays. I’d call it ‘Love Stories From My Vagina’ and it would be a New York Times best seller.” 

Their mirth tailed behind them all the way, in between the super sleek, modern white buildings with their glass verandas and minimalist furniture, down to where the sand hardened and the water appeared impossibly bluer than the sky. 

They sat directly on the warm sand, not caring if they got it on their clothes, and ate their brownies. Trixie took a succession of photos for instagram and they followed each other’s accounts. “Follow my professional one too.” Trixie ordered, showing her the username. 

They both had quite a large amount of followers, Trixie just beating Katya by a thousand or so. Katya didn’t really understand why she had so many herself. She only ever geotagged her pictures, never using actual hashtags, and there was no coherence to her feed - it was a mess of selfies and outfit posts, LA points of interest, memes and purposefully bad photoshopping of herself into various movie stills. 

Trixie evidently had fun going through her feed, however, so Katya was pleased.

“Oh my god, that one of you in the computer screen with Jodie Foster!” She screeched in delight.

“Listen, Contact is a cinematic masterpiece and I was paying homage to that fact the only way I know how.” Katya deadpanned.

“These are hilarious.” 

They both took off their shoes once more and Katya decided to use her bag as a head rest, Trixie soon copying her so they were lying side by side, watching an errant bird flying beneath a solitary cloud. 

Katya’s heart beat like a continual punch in her chest. As they lapsed into silence, she became all too aware of the intimacy of their position, of how she was right next to the person she had always wished to be with so ardently, to the point where she had cried over the impossibility of it. To have that kind of one-sided emotional baggage was beginning to be more terrifying than the original obscure situation. Katya forced her eyes closed to imagine she was alone, that she wasn’t hiding so much. 

-

24th May 2001

I have to stay on until the end of the school year. I am going off the rails.

It’s 5am and I have only just got into bed because I have been standing in my kitchen with the sharpest knife I own pressed against my neck for hours. I do not know when I first took it out of the drawer, it’s been that long. My hand aches. My fingers ache. Everything aches. My kitchen walls are white and my eyes have gone funny from staring at them. It was like I was brain dead for a while, a zombie unfortunately intent on gaining life. 

I couldn’t do it. I COULDN’T FUCKING DO IT YET AGAIN. I was so sure, this time, so determined it was right because the thought was more persistent than it had ever been. I needed to get into the drawer, to get a grip on that knife and slash my throat and splatter my own blood so it would look like I’d just had an almighty food prep nightmare. Marinara sauce explosion. There was comedy! There was tragedy! It would have been fucking perfect.

But I never followed through. I placed the cold blade against my skin, where my jugular vein pulsates most insistently, and I closed my eyes and willed myself to press down, just fucking press down and end it all, and it was like I was frozen in time and space, fighting against a stubborness I don’t want to possess. 

If I prayed anymore, I would have done.

I came out of it, threw the knife down and crawled underneath my covers. Now I’m (still) here.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK THIS FUCKING SHIT FUCKING SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK!!!!!!!!!

KZ :-(

-

“Hey, old lady, we better drive back before the traffic gets bad and you get roasted out here.” Katya jolted awake, feeling the nudge of Trixie’s shoulder against hers and regaining a sense of the waves crashing against the shore, the wind flaring up every now and then. 

Well, that was embarrassing. She never usually fell asleep with someone else beside her. Trixie was proving to be a unique case in multiple ways, this one perhaps the most remarkable so far, which was utterly ridiculous, considering, but true nonetheless. All Katya could do was sit up, wipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of her clammy hand and peer over at Trixie looking down at her from where she was leaning on her elbow. 

“Good nap?” Trixie asked, a smirk teasing Katya more than words ever could. She quite liked it. 

And she could give back as good as she got, of course, if not better. “Yeah, I started to think about your Barbie stories and dropped right off. Phew!” 

In reality, Katya fathomed she must have forcefully calmed herself down so much, to the point where she slipped into unconsciousness. Her mind _was_ powerful...

They bantered on the walk back to Trixie’s car. Inside it, Trixie instantly turned on the air con full blast before reversing out of her hard fought for parking spot and singing perfectly in tune to a song, which flashed up on her dashboard as something by Kacey Musgraves. Katya didn’t catch the full title. She asked who she was and Trixie gave a detailed answer, telling her all about her love of country music. “It’s usually such a straight people thing, I know, but artists like Dolly Parton - you can’t undermine what she did and continues to do for the gay community and people overall. She’s really inspirational, to me anyway. Did you know she has, like, her own library service that supplies books to children for free?” 

“That’s cool, I didn’t know that. All I knew was that she was totally gay for Jolene and no one can tell me otherwise.” 

“Oh, for sure, _for sure_!” 

The Pacific Coast Highway snaked around to the north east of LA. Katya stuck her arm out of the car window like they did in countless coming of age films, moving her hand up and down to feel the breeze between her parted fingers. She hadn’t taken her sunglasses off once all day so they were beginning to hurt the bridge of her nose and behind her ears. Everything was so bright, though, that she didn’t want to risk feeling blinded, most of all when she glanced at Trixie, gleeful and mischievous, nor did she want to expose herself more than she already had. Trixie had her lashes, she supposed, and Katya appreciated her own protective barrier for the time being. She briefly considered getting a fringe again, hers having long grown out so it blended seamlessly into the rest of her hair. She didn’t think she could be bothered with the upkeep. 

Trixie put Jolene on, increasing the volume. Katya yelled over the speakers, “I’m begging of you please just fuck my cunt!” Her lyrics were way better than the original and Trixie scream laughed at her alterations. 

“I thought I was the drama queen around here but you’re quite the performer too.” Trixie half joked. “I can’t quite believe you aren’t actually the star of some bizarre, cult comedy.” 

“Well, art school, y’know.” Katya involuntarily tensed up, looked back out of the window to hide her grimace. 

“ _Such_ a stereotype.” Katya heard the grin on Trixie’s face by how she spoke. She didn’t want to let her pulse race over how tender she sounded but, whilst her mind could be formidable in some ways, she wasn’t immune to the affections of a beautiful, larger than life woman in a stupid fucking tiny car. Not at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo (God said hiiii), lovely people. Here's another chapter inc. our gals going to Yoga and Katya being A Lesbian. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy :)))

15th October 2001

It was the right decision to enrol here. I might have had a literal breakdown over the fact that I will never be David Lynch over the summer but at least my days now are filled with doing whatever I can get away with, pushing the boundaries and limits and myself to communicate my myriad thoughts productively, artistically. I can look introspectively, of course, but I can then turn it out into a wider commentary if I so desire. 

I finished my first video piece last week. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about gender and, especially as a dyke (cause, let’s be real here, I am a fucking dyke and I will never be with a man or connect with a man on any deep emotional level), what it means to be a woman in both the world at large where you’re considered as beneath and lesser than, and in the world of art where you’re set readings by men alone, told to study ‘great works’ which are, surprise surprise, only created by men and the male gaze formulates what is considered high in cultural capital. So it’s like, where do I fit in? If I’m fighting against industrial favouritism and male perspectives as to what is art, and against societal bias, how do I create space for myself, empower myself, whilst also escaping or critiquing how space and empowerment is male defined?

I filmed myself on an empty stage, no lights, no props, nothing but me lip syncing to I Wanna Dance With Somebody wearing half a suit and half a dress, with half my face made up and half of it bare, fake stubble aplenty. As the video progresses, I move closer and closer to the camera until the final part of the song where I grab it and shake it and my expressions turn more ferocious and angry until I seemingly tear out the film tape and it cuts off abruptly at the end. 

We had to write an accompanying essay on our aims, process and influences, as well as a self evaluation considering the effectiveness of our work/what we could have done better. My tutor is male but he’s as gay as the day is long and gave me some recommended reading on suitable feminist theorists, so I don’t think he’ll take my scathing words to heart like most men would. (Actually, that’s probably not an accurate turn of phrase - more like: take it to ego…) 

I got off my tits just to turn up to my first critique today but at least I showed up. We’re going to start workshopping our projects every week from now on. My dealer is gonna have a fucking field day, he’ll be rolling in it by the end of this semester. I could still barely argue my intentions across and could only nod like a dumb fuckdoll when the rest of my group gave me my feedback but I didn’t run out the room and I didn’t cry or whatever, so it’s not all a lost cause. 

Some of the guys on the course are absolute whacknuts. I try to stay away from them whenever I physically can and thankfully they’re more fine art focussed so I don’t see them all the time. I need to come up with as many ways as possible to subtly tell them in class how I’m not interested in the male perspective because it never offers anything new. Unless it’s homo. They’d probably cry discrimination or some shit but men like them need to realise that they aren’t (re)inventing the wheel. Of course, nothing is truly original but men dominate everything to the point where their art is seen as the standard. The standard women aren’t allowed to compete with. It’s simply ‘artist’ and ‘female artist’, subject and object, perpetrator and victim.

What I love about SIM, however, is how I’m pointed in different directions. The professors, for the most part, hold engaging lectures and, although it’s not the most academic of places, I believe I’m being given reading that will expand my horizons, make me think and will inspire, even if it’s in the case of rage or frustration or disagreement. I do love learning, it’s just everything else that can get too much for me. I wish I could say otherwise but there’s not been a day since I started here that I’ve not been intoxicated in some shape or form. Good days - it’s just weed. Bad days - that’s another story. 

Anyway, I didn’t write this down on Saturday but I feel like it’s important now:

I was walking through Harvard Square after visiting Harvard Arts Museums and the Carpenter Centre for visual arts, searching for the perfect place to just sit and maybe sketch out some ideas. I looked up and saw white, a tall figure, a bride. Her face was painted the same colour as her dress and her train was long, covering over the platform she was standing on to make it seem as if she was eight/nine foot, maybe? Her hair (wig) was black with a cropped fringe and she stood, stiller than a statue, holding a small bunch of large oxeye daisies. 

I watched, fascinated, as people stopped and stared. Some even dared to approach her and, when they put some money in the vase she had in front of her, she slowly smiled, like she was gracing them, before extending out her hand and giving them a flower. An exchange, so simple. I spent over an hour observing her. I drew her, too.

I hadn’t taken much notice of street performers before but I feel like there’s an added layer of vulnerability in putting on an act like that. It also seemed infinitely more rewarding than standing in a theatre, somewhere more conventional. I didn’t dare go up to her, not quite ready for such an intimate connection, but she inspired me nonetheless, without even knowing I was there. I pictured my woman as her, too, and later tried out her face on the bride’s body, imagining what it would be like to stand before her and have her reach out with a tangible offering. 

The eight foot bride. FUCK. Her act, even with many eyes upon her, was joyful.

Something to think about…

KZ :-)

-

“Oh my god! She sounds great. When are you seeing her again?” Amy enthused, surrounded by her three cats as she lay with Katya on top of her pink sheets. They had been to a dumpling place for dinner and, well and truly stuffed, were getting round to discussing Katya’s life news after Katya had thoroughly interrogated Amy on hers. They hadn’t seen each other in well over a year and, although they usually FaceTimed and kept up to date via instagram, with Katya’s move and all that entailed, they hadn’t had the chance to connect like usual. 

Katya had considered not mentioning Trixie. The more people she told, the more real it all was. That was both a blessing and a curse. It helped reassure her on the days when she felt like a nut job that she wasn’t hallucinating her new friend (this time). It also made everything so glaring and it scared her, thinking that someone, somehow, would make the connections and out her as a certified crazy person. Katya had been friends with Amy for a very long time, through some of the worst points and some of the moments which, when brought to light, could reveal her insanity completely. When she considered it, it seemed like she was playing with fire.

Nevertheless, Katya was all too happy to talk about the Trixie she was just getting to know because she really, _really_ liked what she was discovering.

“I’ve invited her to come to one of my yoga classes with me, the level one to two on Thursday evening so it’s not too hard. She’d never forgive me if I threw her straight in the deep end but I think that’s a good one to start with, just challenging enough to get her to really push herself.” Katya had found an amazing teacher who managed to cater to such a wide range of abilities. Her classes were always packed but she managed to pay close attention to those who needed it, offering different variations for most of the poses in her sequences. 

“You’ve put a bit of thought into this, haven’t you?” Amy said with a small smirk appearing over the fluffy fur of her ginger cat, affectionately named Turkey, who was almost fully wrapped around her neck. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Katya feigned innocence.

Amy giggled. “Come on, Kitty Kat, tell me what you’re feeling!”

Katya grabbed onto a cat, the one called Little Brother. He looked disapprovingly at her but didn’t try to get away from her hold on his adorable off-white body, clearly used to being handled so much by Amy and her friends. 

“I’m feeling like you’re reading too much into things.” She quipped. Amy just rolled her eyes, not buying it for a second. “I don’t know! I like spending time with her, we get on well, we always have plenty to talk about but that’s the extent of it. I just enjoy her company and I wouldn’t want to put any of my shit on her. She’s too good for that.” 

“There it is.” Amy singsonged. She shifted Turkey off of her and scooted over to cuddle Katya, trapping Little Brother in between them. Katya wrapped her arm around Amy, their faces close but not uncomfortably so. 

“There’s just...a lot. A lot to consider whenever I meet someone new.” 

“I know. I get it, you know I do.” Amy was a few years sober, too. “You can’t hold yourself back, though. If you want her, go get her. If you want to have her as a friend, show her. She seems like she’s got her head screwed on, I’m sure she isn’t dense about this sort of thing.”

“No. Anyway, we’ve only just met, I need to give myself way more time to figure out my shit generally first before I even start thinking about figuring out Trixie.” That was the biggest lie she’d told anyone since moving. It felt rotten, like poison settling in her stomach, ready to wreak havoc on her body. It was a necessary evil, nevertheless. She had to throw everyone off the scent as best she could, as subtly as she could.

They spent the rest of the night snuggled up with the cats, talking about everything and nothing, posting funny videos of each other and trying on some of Amy’s most ridiculous accessories. Katya came home feeling both light and burdened. She imagined that light as a golden glow swelling in her chest, getting bigger and bigger so as to push out the negativity, the poison she had created within herself again. Her strategy helped. By the time she got into bed, she had a smile on her face. 

Nestled into her pillows, she texted Trixie a selfie she had taken at Amy’s, mouth wide like she was about to take a bite out of Little Brother’s disgruntled face. “Eating pussy!” She captioned it, breaking into a fit of laughter at herself and rolling about under her covers. She didn’t wait for Trixie to reply, instead leaning over her bedside table to plug her phone in and blow out her lavender scented candles. She fell asleep thinking of flowers.

-

20th October 2001

Me and Madge FINALLY went to see Mulholland Drive. I can’t put into words how much I adored it. It’s dream-like and mysterious and Naomi Watts fucking smashes it. I am in awe. It sounds so wanky but I feel so fucking inspired.

In fact, I decided as soon as I got home what my next piece is going to be. I’m going to mimic the scene where Rebekah del Rio lip-syncs to her own Spanish cover of Roy Orbison’s “Crying” before passing out on the stage. That bit summed it up for me, what I like about performance art - having this crazy reaction to something and it’s not real, you’re being tricked the whole time. 

Actually, I can’t even waste time writing in here. I’ve got to do something. Before the buzz of it all fades away and I’m left trying to recreate that which I feel so intensely now, right now, in the immediate aftershocks.

(I still want to be David Lynch but I’m getting more comfortable with being me. Artistically, anyway...)

KZ :-)

-

The yoga studio near Katya’s house was so typically hippie that it made Katya huff a laugh to herself every time she walked up to it. It was a flat, rectangular building which, from the outside, resembled more of a shack. To the left of its front, where the spaces for windows had been boarded up, were two lots of brightly painted graffiti. The pink monster with a lopsided face and one eye wasn’t exactly what one would assume to be painted on such a place, but Katya found it rather endearing nonetheless. The actual windows were large, their frames an off-lavender colour to match the door. Katya stood to the side of it, fixing her Lululemon leggings so the seam ran as straight as possible down her outer leg and checking over her black cutout sports bra to make sure there weren’t any deodorant marks on the mesh panelled material. 

The evening air was cooling but Katya cursed the prickle of sweat taunting the nape of her neck. She tied her hair up in a messy bun as she waited, stray strands sticking out here and there, before shifting her yoga mat on her shoulder. She knew she shouldn’t have set out so early but she had been getting cabin fever, too antsy for her own good and, though the studio was only a ten minute walk away, she had managed to cut that down even further to six. It took most of her willpower not to start doing jump squats on the sidewalk. 

Trixie was coming straight from work. Katya wasn’t sure exactly what job she was on that day but the thought of her bustling about, all dolled up, then coming to meet her looking more glam than any of the other women would even dream of being in order to attend class made her want to bounce up and down with impatience. Katya wanted to know what eyeshadow she had on, if it was a shade she had pictured her in before or if it was a formula utterly unbeknownst to her. She thought of her lips, overdrawn so obviously, her blush, blended beyond the apples of her cheeks and into her contour, and the way she laughed like a demonic bird squawking. She was so animated and, as much as the mere concept of her sent Katya’s nerves fizzing, she also had the kind of personality Katya was powerlessly drawn to, the kind that brought out some steely confidence within her.

It was hard to resolve the merging of the past and the present, but Katya was trying. She was definitely trying. 

-

14th March 2002

My tutors are pushing me back towards traditional mediums as a means to intersect with the technology I’m using for my visual arts and performances. It’s not like I’ve abandoned my paper and pencil, but I haven’t drawn in so long because I feared that every time I did, my hand would be taken over by the desire to depict her. She was the only thing I wanted to capture for a while as I lost myself to finding her. 

It’s difficult because I’m expected to show variation whilst also discerning a particular style or iconography. At the start of my time here, I was fixated on other people’s words being shown to come from my mouth like I am a messenger or a thief or a mute, desperate for some volume (attention). Then, I moved onto action and projections, words and images and video reels put upon my body like an invasion or a welcome addition. Now, I’m not sure what to do with it all, whether to be a jack of all trades or a master of one. Do I need to literally blend it all for the intentions to show through? It’s a navigation I have to make, to manifest meanings I might have assigned to one mechanism and filter them through the ranges. Perhaps, then, their meanings would change, take on a new identity, better or worse, plainer or even more harrowing in their exuberance. 

It seems foolish and shallow to flitter between the disciplines but limiting, all the same, to align myself with a single, particular form. If I cut myself into a million pieces, there might be enough of me to use.

I’ve recently been exploring the work of Nan Goldin and I’ve obsessed over Vivienne Westwood, all her catwalks and editorials and anything I could get my hands on, basically. The both of them have defied expectations and restrictions explicitly or implicitly placed on women. The way Westwood takes typically enforced-feminine silhouettes and deconstructs them, sometimes only slightly so as to give a sense of ‘offness’, sometimes outright, like pairing poofy skirts and brooches with overly boxy jackets or rugby style striped shirts...fuck. It’s challenging. Unconcerned. 

And how Goldin captures the fringes, the kind of scenes expected of men to snoop around and gawk at like animals in a zoo, to observe from the sidelines but never truly immerse themselves in for fear of being perceived as gay or dirty or unrefined. Goldin equally becomes a part of those scenes whilst photographing the people within them like she isn’t actually there - no contrived posing, only pure, unfiltered, spur of the moment joy/pain/mundanity/spectrum of everyday/everynight living. 

I find myself more switched on by the second. The more drugs I take, the more people on my course I manage to connect with (at least on an artistic level), the more I see and do and fuck up, the more I can create, the more I can make believe a purpose for myself beyond the physical realm. It’s not enough to be human, to live. My life is the mere vessel to a different perspective being nudged out into the open. The things I can birth are more worthy than any newborn. I spent my childhood in disbelief of a higher power when all along that higher power was me. Not omnipotent, not omniscient - the opposite, willing to understand and evolve in order to construct new simulacrum. 

It’s a miracle what a little crystal does for my self worth.

KZ :-?

-

Of course, Trixie turned up in bright pink leggings and an oversized t-shirt. Her long hair was braided down her back and, as Katya thought, she still wore her massive falsies. 301s, she’d told Katya, the ones all the drag queens wore and stacked. Her everyday look was one pair, her night out look was two, maybe three, depending on where she was going and who she was with. It shouldn’t have endeared Katya as much as it did, something so simple and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but she had grinned at her phone like a maniac when Trixie had sent a series of messages explaining. 

Once they’d signed in to the class and Trixie had paid, they went to the room where purple mats were already positioned in neat rows for them, facing their teacher’s mat which was lengthways in front of the large windows letting in more light than Katya had been used to when she first attended. 

Katya usually took a mat on the first row, a little to the left and it was silly, she definitely knew it was silly, but it put her on edge to think that Trixie might not want to sit there, preferring the back or the right of the room instead. So, she strutted confidently to her normal spot and started rolling up the given mat in order to replace it with her own. It was a bit selfish, but she didn’t check if Trixie was comfortable with being at the front. Little niggles like that were what she wanted to work on overcoming eventually. For now, she got into lotus position and straightened her spine, and then looked for Trixie’s reaction.

She had planted down on the mat to her left and was staring at how Katya sat with a quirk of her eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at what I’m doing.” Katya said quietly. Other people were filtering in and she didn’t want to embarrass Trixie or patronise her. “Listen to your body, to the teacher, do what’s best for you. I usually take the time before the class starts to just sit and regulate my breathing and focus on the air coming in and out of my nose. That sounds a bit weird but I find it calming. Want to try?” 

The smile on Trixie’s face was the kind that Katya had spotted when they first got brunch together and Katya eventually told Trixie a bit about herself. Trixie nodded and followed Katya’s gentle instruction to sit with her legs crossed and back as straight as possible. Trixie was still smiling once she’d settled into position, eyes closed. Katya allowed herself to smile too because Trixie couldn’t see. 

The class teacher came in soon after and introduced herself like she did at the start of every session, welcoming those new to yoga and reinforcing that everyone in the room had been beginners at some point. “We’re all sending our positive energy to you.” She said with an innate kindness. 

They started by lying on a bolster, legs stretched outwards. After a short while, they were to start raising their arms above their head in time with their inhalations and place them back down by the end of their exhalations. The teacher guided them through some shoulder and chest openers and side stretches and, once they’d sat up again, Katya couldn’t stop herself from glancing over at Trixie every so often. She told herself it was to make sure she was alright. In truth, she just wanted to watch her, the same as she did whenever she was with her. 

Katya liked her teacher’s sequencing because she always made sure to put in some abs work near the start of the class to really warm people up. Being a long term practitioner allowed Katya the certainty that she knew a lot about yoga, and sometimes she felt let down or hard done by when instructors didn’t warm up the core, especially when plank pose was so integral to their vinyasas. 

Holding a foam block above their heads, they were told to lean back on their sacrum and then come back up again to the same position. Then, they had to lean back whilst taking their block over to their right, then their left, lifting the opposite leg each time. Katya didn’t let herself become too distracted, but she heard Trixie’s grunts and huffs as she struggled. Next, they lay on their backs, pulling their knees into their armpits and raising their heads before sending one leg out to hover over the floor, their elbow coming to touch their other knee, twisting their torso. Katya began to feel a pleasant burn spread up and down her core. She saw Trixie collapse, flushed and sweaty, to give herself a breather. She was glad Trixie had listened to their teacher when she told them to rest whenever they needed to. 

The final part of the section was to place their hands behind their head, raise their chest up and reach their feet upwards to the ceiling before lowering them as much as possible, pressing their spine into the floor. Katya could almost make herself horizontal. She stole a glance at Trixie, who had lowered her feet slightly, legs shaking, her breath coming in ragged intervals. Katya appreciated her determination. It was why she thought it was a good idea to invite her in the first place. She was fiery and seemed incredibly driven, so the physicality of the practice would give her something to aim towards, whilst the spirituality of it would mellow her out. 

Amy was right, Katya _had_ put a lot of thought into it. Damn it. 

Katya got properly into her flow after that, barely remembering someone else was with her until the end of the class when they got into position for Shavasana. Katya spread her arms wide, her palms facing upwards. She accidentally brushed Trixie’s hand as she was getting comfortable. Trixie settled so her thumb rested against Katya’s. Katya completely lost control of her breathing and, as their teacher was gently reminding them to release all the tension in their limbs, their jaw, their forehead, she clenched her muscles like she was afraid that if she let go, everything inside her would spring out. 

“How did you find it?” Katya asked once they’d closed the session with Namaste and put their props away. 

The hair around Trixie’s forehead had curled and stuck to her skin with sweat. Her face had dried off during their relaxation but she still had a strong colour upon her cheeks that peeked through her makeup. Katya was impressed by how much had remained on her skin. She looked a billion times better than Katya did. Katya wasn’t wearing foundation, just a swipe of concealer underneath her eyes to brighten them. She had put kohl on her waterline and smudged it between her top lashes, not bothering with lipstick. Only then did she realise that it was the first time Trixie had seen her without a full face on. She felt exposed but it was nice, like she was letting Trixie in a bit more, showing her more parts of herself. It was safe, still, but new too. 

“I never usually enjoy things I suck at, but I get why you like it so much. You need a lot of focus.” 

They chatted for a while outside the studio, about the class and their day, sharing jokes and innuendos, neither of them wanting to part ways but both knowing it was for the best as Trixie had an early start the following morning. 

“I think there might be a picnic or something happening with a bunch of my friends this Sunday. Would you want to come with me?” Trixie asked after a comfortable silence. They were stood practically toe to toe. Trixie was leaning with her back against the pink graffiti monster and Katya fought the urge to take a photo of her. She held out hope for another opportunity. 

Katya’s insides itched. She had been having a great time with Trixie and it gave her anxiety as it was, just telling her own friends about her. Actually meeting some of Trixie’s friends was perhaps a step too far out of Katya’s comfort zone. What if they sniffed her out? 

Trixie must have noticed a change in her demeanour. “No worries if not. They’re horrible anyway. Well, no, that’s a joke, they’re great, very sarcastic and dry humoured. It’s ok, it’s probably too soon, I just thought—” 

“If I’m free, I could tag along for a bit.” Katya stopped Trixie in her rambling tracks, surprising herself as well. “They’re not all twenty something glamazons are they? I have enough of that with Violet.” Katya internally kicked herself for sounding so rude, but her mind was racing and her heart was thumping and she was fidgeting like she hadn’t just done a yoga class but a load of speed instead. She didn’t have much of a filter anyway, but when nervous she sure could put her foot in it.

Trixie barked out a laugh. “Unfortunately a couple of them are, but the others aren’t at all.” She then tucked her chin in like she was embarrassed to be seen so pleased. “I’ll make sure you have a nice time. You just have to promise not to fall asleep again.” 

Katya wheeze laughed. “You cunt!”

It was a tentative arrangement and Katya didn’t know how she’d cope, but seeing Trixie’s reaction to her acceptance was enough to fuel her.

She wondered if this was another instance of her mindlessly chasing her muse.

-

20th May 2003

Avi and I have created something silly and stupid and, actually, rather brilliant. Her name is Trish Thompson. She’s fourteen days clean, cuts hair out of her mom’s garage and is still smoking pot but whatever. 

My work was getting way too serious, to the point where I was becoming incredibly self-conscious about how much of myself I was putting into what I was producing and it was making me ill again. I couldn’t turn up to my workshops and I was one missed session away from getting into serious trouble with administration. I think it got to the point where I passed out during practice at The Pozen Centre for me to step back and away from myself and realise something had to shift. It was unrealistic of me to think I could completely change, that my habits with drugs and drink and everything would come to an abrupt stop. But I’ve cut down and been strict with myself, which is really not something I’m used to.

At the moment, I only allow myself to smoke weed, and to drink on Friday nights and Saturdays or if I have a performance. Like with Trish, it’s been two weeks and I’ve stuck to it. It’s fucking hard. I’ve had more cold sweats than I ever thought possible and I’m constantly shaking whenever I sit still for longer than a minute, but I’m searching for the humour of it and I’m finding my ability to poke fun and have fun again. Avi’s been a great help. He’s so much better at the tech side of things than I am and I’m so much better at the acting and generally being an idiot.

We spent yesterday and today filming a series of videos following Trish around, mockumentary style, as she philosophizes and hangs out in her dumpster, drinking the biggest vat of iced coffee you could ever imagine. I bought a shitty wig and some cheap gold earrings and did my makeup like the middle aged prostitutes I’ve seen around and, when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t look like me and I laughed - it felt good not to see myself as myself for a while, to focus on someone else.

It kind of feels like cheating on my woman, though, which is INSANE but, hey, that’s me, isn't it?   
She’s the only person/thing I’ve obsessed over apart from myself. Putting time and energy and love into another character, another piece of art, is new. I’ll have to get used to it. 

I have a wall of drawings and paintings of her, now. No one comes to my place so no one will ever see it. I should be more embarrassed than I am - there must be hundreds of them up there - but I’m kind of impressed by how many variations I’ve seen of her and depicted. What an artistic endeavour! What a statement! Ha.

She’s the most beautiful thing. Trish is such a contrast. Let’s see where this all goes, anyway…

KZ :-)

-

Katya’s Japanese tutor was Korean and spoke Mandarin, Taiwanese and Malay as well. She was a large woman, tall and broad with impeccable makeup, never wearing the same look twice. She had a gentle voice with a lisp but had the most deadpan delivery and could make some truly hilarious, cutting remarks. Katya appreciated how she approached the language. Seriously, with respect and a deeper understanding. Katya had specified, when looking for a one to one, that she was interested in etymology and grammar and wasn’t just hoping to rehearse her practical application. 

That week, she asked Katya what she had been up to and Katya had gotten back enough knowledge to be able to respond fluently in Japanese, detailing her night with Amy and her outing to Yoga with Trixie, her ‘friend’. Katya also managed to get her tense correct when mentioning their plans for Sunday, showing her the dress she was set on wearing to appear both fashionably cultured and humourous - the perfect balance for surely making a good first impression.

She had second guessed herself, briefly, when she realised she was going to don one of her most prized possessions for a fucking picnic, but it was a picnic with _Trixie_ and her elusive friends. The Vivienne Tam dress always struck up a conversation, depicting a pop art inspired repeated print of Mao Zedong, and it had proven impossible in the past for people not to be fascinated both by its rarity (there was another one on show at the V&A in London) and how funny it was. 

“Oh, cool.” Kim replied once Katya had finished speaking. “I’m going to a picnic on Sunday too. It’s not the same one is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the eight foot bride Katya mentions https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DiiO_XNqOHQ


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo. I'm posting early because I won't be around for a few days and this is a chapter I'm particularly very happy with and excited for y'all to read. I hope you enjoy it too!

7th July 2003 

I’m back in Marlborough. I’ve not written in here for a while because so much has happened and it’s all so messy and surreal and simultaneously too real that I haven’t been able to formulate my words. I think it’s time now.

It was the end of the semester and a whole array of shit got to me. I did really well with my grades and managed to successfully put on a few shows and collaborate, and I found a way to integrate my paintings into my performances...but it came with the misfortune of practically trying to kill myself again (overdose) after it was all done. I went on a massive blow out, exhausted and creatively dried up, which lasted four days. I didn’t come home. People apparently had no idea where I was, which makes sense because I sure as hell didn’t know where I was either. 

Madge found me across town. I’m still not certain how.

It all started after I took a lot of meth, and then I took LSD and shrooms and coke and fuck knows what else in the space of a few hours, and the sheer intensity of the concoction brought her to me like I’d never experienced before.

She was so vivid, sitting beside me, following me around as I paced my apartment, and I talked to her for god knows how long, and it was as if we were falling in love, like all I had left to do was actually kiss her, fuck her. So I tried to. It was like trying to fuck a ghost. I TRIED TO FUCK A GHOST. Like… that’s the kind of state I was in. I tried to fuck a ghost!

And then it hit me, what I was doing. So I ran. Out the door, down the street and I just kept running and running until I physically couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t recognise where I was and everything was distorted and twisted and I kept thinking I could see things and then the next moment they’d disappear. At one point, I ended up in a McDonald’s, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and watching as a massive rash formed on the top of my head and slowly travelled down my body. I don’t know how I got rid of it, or if it was even really there or not. I was out of my mind.

The following few days were an absolute blur. I didn’t sleep but I’m not sure where I wandered or what I did at night. I don’t know how I didn’t end up murdered, but, to be honest, I would have loved that. It would have made things so much easier. 

Madge brought me home and tucked me into bed with three blankets to make sure I was warm, and she watched over me until I woke up again - twenty hours later - and fed me. Then she demanded that I call my dad to come and pick me up. I was experiencing the worst comedown of my entire life so I didn’t have the energy to protest. I also didn’t elaborate when dad asked me what was wrong, and I put the phone down on him so abruptly. I don’t know if he’s forgiven me quite yet. I certainly haven’t forgiven myself. I also can’t blame myself either, because that wasn’t really me. I was still under the influence. 

So now I’m here. In a daze, not totally with it yet. Mom’s got me on lockdown. She took time off her volunteering post at the old people’s home to babysit me. She said we’re going to have A Talk when I’m ‘back to normal’. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at that. Impossible. 

Nothing makes sense. I’m a lost cause. 

My woman, my ghost, my everything...she’s the only one that understands me because she’s the only one who doesn’t (can’t) try to.

KZ :-(

-

Katya didn’t believe in fate. She’d been through enough to know that what happened in life was determined by actions and intentions, on a micro and a macro level. She did, however, believe in the eerie, the coincidental and the spooky. It made for an interesting story, at the very least.

Finding out Kim knew Trixie was something else. In and of itself, it would have been an unremarkable little anecdote to break out once everyone had been introduced. She pictured it, Trixie presenting Kim to her and Kim and Katya sharing a private smile, humouring Trixie whilst she was adorably none the wiser; the screech Trixie would let out when they told her, the ‘no way!’. But, to Katya, it felt like another piece missing from the puzzle of just who Trixie was to her. She was scrambling for answers and the universe just kept throwing her more curve balls, more mysteries she didn’t know whether she could ever solve. 

Sunday morning jumped up on her and Katya spent the long moments after she woke meditating to stay calm and grounded. She thought it was cheesy but true nevertheless, the famous quote which went along the lines of: ‘you should meditate for twenty minutes each day and, if you’re too busy, you should meditate for an hour.’ She was never busy but her mind definitely was and sometimes she pondered upon which was better - being overly physically or mentally occupied. She knew her (probably unpopular) answer. The one she was used to. 

The arrangement was to meet at midday in Echo Park, opposite the fountain, and sit on kitschy patchwork blankets whilst eating too much food and drinking cheap beer or tea. Katya only left her house at twelve and forced herself to walk at a much more glacial pace than what came naturally to her so as not to arrive too soon.

She made her way to a tea house first, counting out her steps and setting herself a target for every minute that passed, seeing if she could get lower each time. She couldn’t remember how many people would be there or if Trixie had actually even said, so she ordered a range of the cafe’s best sellers in their largest size and only when she had to carry the load out in double stacked trays in a bag did she realise she would have been better just getting a few bottles of Arizona from the store. Bubble tea was more impressive, though. She also planned to order a pizza delivery once she’d sussed out exactly where the group was sitting. Bribery at its finest. 

God, Trixie was going to catch on immediately, Katya thought as she struggled down Echo Park Avenue. She’d already been told off about that. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. 

She was glad she’d decided to fix her hair away from her face, to the side in a very loose bun. The back of her neck could breathe even if the rest of her couldn’t. Her dark pink dangly earrings hit the sides of her face as she turned one way then the other to check for any cars, before she crossed the road over to the park entrance. Her classic black Ray Ban wayfarers and Converse high tops completed her outfit. She knew she looked hot. Bonkers but hot - that was her _thing_ and she owned it because if she didn’t, it would be another weapon she could use against herself. 

She spotted Trixie first. It was inevitable, an intrinsic instinct by now. Trixie was leaning back on her hands, her short dress riding up to her mid thigh as she crossed one leg over the other. She had straightened her hair so it appeared even longer than previously and Katya caught herself wondering what it would be like to comb her fingers through it, to feel a slightly more intimate part of her. 

Katya then took in the four other people around her. Kim and Naomi and another unfamiliar woman, plus a bald man in a blue plaid shirt who had everyone in hysterics. 

She steeled herself, gripped her plastic bag tighter than necessary so it dug into the underside of her knuckles, and trudged over to the group. When she was ten steps or so away and as of yet undetected (the four of them enraptured by whatever story the man was telling), she took out the trays of bubble tea, placing one in each hand, and barged in between Trixie and Kim.

“Hi, my name’s Stephanie, I’ll be taking care of you guys today. Can I get you something to drink?” It was easier to put on a voice and an act, to butt into a conversation as a character instead of herself. It made it feel satisfying, not intimidating, when five heads whipped around in her direction. Trixie’s loud, screeching laugh, however, was what really put her at ease. To see her fling her head back and to slap the ground before getting to her feet to greet her - that was the true goal of it all.

Katya didn’t even begin to properly consider the other people beside her when Trixie wrapped her arms around her shoulders and pulled her close for a hug. It took a second or so for Katya’s body to catch up with her, to respond by putting her arms around Trixie as well, as best she could with her hands full of sugary liquids, before stepping back to take in her makeup. Her perfume was still freshly wafting up Katya’s nose and she fought the temptation to chase it, to pull Trixie back in so she could properly inhale her scent, revel in another piece of evidence that she was right there, present and glowing and wonderfully vibrant to the senses. She had applied her trademark eyeliner and buffed it out with a few brown tones on her top lid and through her bottom lashes. Her lips were a paler shade of pink, outlined with a darker neutral. She was beautiful, Katya thought, then and every time she’d seen her. 

“ _Hi_ , I’m the gulp you get _behind_ the seven eleven!” Trixie pretended to introduce herself to Katya in response and a chorus of groans and yells of how gross she was came from behind her as everyone got to their feet to say hello, take the trays from her to place on the ground and shake hands. 

Bob was the first, eager and welcoming, and Katya felt safe in his presence, which was a rarity with the opposite sex, but he was flamingly homosexual so that explained that. Shea was next and Katya immediately complimented her on her skin, radiant and blemish-free. She wasn’t unrealistically perfect in the way Violet or Naomi were, but had a fierce woman-next-door vibe to her that Katya was totally there for. Shea mentioned something about finally meeting the infamous Katya but Katya didn’t get even the smallest of chances to dwell on what that meant - Naomi quickly swooped down to air kiss both of Katya’s cheeks and told her it was nice to see her again. “You too.” Katya replied, shifting from foot to foot, wondering if Trixie had overheard and, if so, how she would react.

Finally, Kim, still sat on the floor, raised her hand in acknowledgement and called out, “I saw you a few days ago, you’re not worth getting up for but thanks for the tea. The taro is mine and all you slow pokes can die crying about it.” She stabbed her metal straw through the lid to accentuate her point and took a purposefully drawn out sip. 

Katya could just about manage to laugh and say, “You’re welcome.”

Trixie came up next to her, her arm brushing Katya’s as she gostled about. “So you’re telling me you know _two_ of my friends and I had no idea? This feels like a weird sort of cheating. The deception of it all!” Katya could tell she was a bit unnerved. Her smile lines weren’t as deep set as usual when she was joking around and she tilted her head in a way which was more affronted than intrigued. 

“I should have warned you I’m such a horrible person, right?” Katya was an expert at framing the truth within a sarcastic comment. “I’m planning to steal them all from you.” 

“We’ll go willingly.” Shea commented with a smirk as they all arranged themselves into a circle, their bags and food and bubble tea in the middle for everyone to peruse. 

“Yeah, it’ll be refreshing to be seen with someone who has actual style.” Kim added, delivery quick and flat and Katya liked seeing this side of her, instead of Kim-the-tutor. 

Trixie scream laughed and motioned a punch in Kim’s direction. 

“Girl, that dress is something else.” Bob added and Katya posed for them all, showing off the different comical portraits and talking more about the designer. It had worked like a charm as she had predicted and, soon enough, Trixie’s friends were fawning over her.

As the conversation shifted to the latest gossip about someone called Pearl, Katya leant into Trixie’s side and spoke in her ear, quietly enough so as no one else would be able to hear. “Thank you for inviting me. I was nervous but I’m glad I came.” 

Trixie turned so their faces were mere inches apart. “That’s cute.” 

All Katya could do was guffaw and hope to the high heavens that the blush on her hollow cheeks wasn’t visible in the blinding afternoon sun. 

“You do look incredible. This sounds gay but, like, I kind of anticipate what you’re going to wear when I see you and then you turn something out that I wouldn’t ever think up myself.”

Katya found it difficult to accept sincere compliments. She’d rather shroud herself in humour and mystery than expose herself to candor. “It’s just years of experience.” She shrugged and tried not to let the ache in her chest expand when Trixie deflated, so minutely that an untrained eye wouldn’t have caught it. But Katya was astute. She could pick up the slightest of changes in body language or behaviour, decades of anxiety teaching her more than anything else could. She felt cruel. Cruel to be kind, however, that’s how it went. 

“Hey, psycho Barbie!” Kim called over and the moment was broken. Katya sat back onto her blanket, making sure she didn’t stretch the material of her dress as she got herself into a comfortable position. “Have you heard from her? Last she said to me was that she had to go to New York to work on a shoot.”

Katya watched as Trixie nodded, adjusting her sunglasses before reaching for the cocoa and iced chai with tapioca pearls. She smiled to herself, thinking how that was the flavour she associated with Trixie when she had picked it. 

“She texted me yesterday. She apparently got on _very_ well with one of the models but she didn’t give me any more details.” 

“Too busy being elbow deep in pussy.” Bob quipped and everyone screeched, Naomi shaking her head and covering her face with her hands, long, glittery acrylic nails catching the light. 

Trixie must have realised Katya wouldn’t know what they were discussing because she decided to shuffle closer and fill her in whilst Naomi told them what she had gleaned. “Our friend Pearl, she’s a makeup artist too. Crazy talented, makes creepy dolls on the side and posts videos on YouTube where she literally transforms her face. I’ll have to show you, you’d like what she does.” 

“Creepy dolls - sold!” She exclaimed with genuine delight. Trixie seemed to have eased up again. Katya hadn’t done too much damage. Yet. 

Katya had mainly been worried that Trixie’s friends would interrogate her or ask her too many questions she couldn’t bring herself to answer so dishonestly. She was relieved that, whilst they all expressed interest in her, they didn’t push for too much so their hang out never felt like an inquisition. Plus, they had plenty of gossip to take precedence. 

Katya, furthermore, ensured she got the balance right, finding out what she could about everyone without giving away that she was really only interested in anything related to Trixie. It hit her, at some points, that she had initially just intended to try and figure out her history with her but Trixie had, completely unknowingly, made her forget about that intention. Now, she just wanted to know as much as possible about the real Trixie, the one actually next to her, the one that made her heart beat a bit faster every time she looked her way. 

Katya learned that Bob was a comedian and the host of a popular gay bar in West Hollywood. Shea apparently did a bit of everything - makeup, modelling, performing - and had known Trixie and Kim the longest. Katya already knew the basic facts about Naomi and, of course, knew Kim was a fucking makeup magician and skilled multilingualist. It was surprisingly pleasant to be immersed in their world of beauty, how they approached it all with a critical eye and unrelenting professionalism. Katya had had far too many experiences of others succumbing to the ease of vapidity and stupidity. It also helped that Bob made scathing comments at every turn. Katya’s face ached, an hour or so in, from how much she was cracking up at him. 

Kim had brought a small selection of Korean food and snacks that everyone tore into once she pointed them out, explaining the ingredients and who she learned the recipe from in her family. Katya let the others take their pick first. Once they’d devoured it all, Trixie presented her salads and veggie wraps, and soon they had been eaten too. They finished off with doughnuts and Naomi’s homemade ‘healthy’ granola flapjacks. Suitably stuffed, everyone decided to lie back and let their food digest. 

The silly fear that she would indeed fall asleep like previously made Katya itch for a cigarette. She excused herself to light up away from other people and wandered nearer to the water, watching the upwards and downwards movements of the fountain as she inhaled as deeply as she could, feeling the pleasant burning in her lungs. She took her time, bringing herself back to a level-headedness that would equip her to lie next to Trixie and not totally lose her self control. It would have been naive of her not to recognise that she wanted to bring Trixie’s body into hers and, well...cuddle. There was no other word for it that would make it easier for Katya to accept. 

She resisted another cigarette, instead finding a bin and dropping her stub into it before returning to the group. 

Bob and Shea were on their stomachs, facing each other and conspiring whilst munching on leftovers. Kim and Naomi had their eyes closed and were sharing earphones, relaxing against each other peacefully. And Trixie was lying flat on her back but her head was turned, pillowed by her bent elbow. She was watching Katya approach with a soft smile. Katya quickened her steps. 

“Hello again.” Trixie said, so tenderly that Katya thought she might explode. “If you stink of smoke, you’re not allowed near me.”

Katya slotted into Trixie’s side, her stomach coming to rest against the curve of Trixie’s waist. She propped herself up, hand on her cheek, so she could gaze down at Trixie. “What’s the verdict, then?” She asked, knowing full well that, after having doused herself in it earlier, all she smelled of was her favourite fancy perfume, Atkinson’s Oud Save The Queen. It was pricey but it was a million times worth Trixie raising herself up enough to bring her nose underneath Katya’s jawline. Katya’s eyes fluttered closed as Trixie inhaled.

“Oh my god.” Katya heard her whisper. She was frozen, fixed in place by Trixie’s proximity. She could feel Trixie’s breath against her skin. Where she had been warm all day, there were now goosebumps, raising up as if trying to make contact with Trixie’s touch. “You smell _amazing_. What _is_ that?”

Katya choked out her answer and forced her eyes open, only to see Trixie retreating. She didn’t have enough restraint to bear it. 

Trixie placed her head back on the blanket and was staring up at her in wonder. Katya could only imagine what Trixie could see in her. She took off her sunglasses, throwing them aside carelessly, and removed Trixie’s too. Then, she lay down so her chin was level with the top of Trixie’s head. She tapped her own chest and watched as Trixie glanced up at her to check she had understood her meaning, disbelief and wonder painting her gorgeous face. Katya smiled, nodded silently and, when Trixie curled into her - her ear pressed over Katya’s frenzied heart - she wrapped her arm around her, pulling her in even closer and holding her tight, terrified that she would blink and she’d disappear like all those times before. 

Trixie let out a content hum as Katya let herself smell her hair, graze her lips against her forehead as she feigned shifting position. Trixie’s hand settled at Katya’s waist and she huffed a laugh when Trixie tried to squeeze her. “You’re so tiny.” If they weren’t cuddled up like they were, Trixie would have shrieked. Instead, it came out delicately, like it was a precious admission. It probably was, Katya thought. If Katya had been braver, she would have responded, would have smiled and said ‘you’re larger than life, more consuming than I ever could have dreamed up’. 

“It’s because I have no soul to fill me out.” She croaked like an old, witchy woman instead.

“Maybe I have your soul as well as mine and that’s why I’m so curvy.” 

It was a joke. Of course it was. It had to be. She wasn’t loopy like Katya. Trixie wasn’t like her and that’s what made everything so unique. And Katya didn’t really believe in souls (ex-catholic, hello) and it was just a funny comment and Katya’s brain shortcircuited anyway because she had been searching for an explanation and she had resigned herself to the realisation that there probably would never be one and having Trixie say something like _that_ hit a nerve and she obviously had no idea and, fuck, Katya still hadn’t said anything, was still staring at her like a rabbit in the brightest of headlights. _Fuck_. 

“Sorry, that was…” Trixie trailed off and broke their eye contact.

“No!” Katya strained to reassure her. “No, maybe you’re right.” She gave her a convincing smile and squeezed her once more. Their eyes met again. Katya worried Trixie was able to see through them, all the way up and into her brain as it fried itself in panic mode. 

She was grateful Trixie seemed satisfied with that. She began to natter away about something loosely related that she’d read on Reddit in the no sleep thread and Katya pretended to listen. All she could hear was ‘maybe I have your soul as well as mine’, repeating in her mind like a stuck record. She wished it was a good enough justification for why Katya had known her for so long, for why she had been connected to her without Trixie knowing. 

After a while, they changed positions. Trixie rolled onto her other side and Katya spooned her from behind as if they were sharing a bed, not a picnic blanket. Katya nosed into Trixie’s hair again, overwhelming herself with the scent of her coconut shampoo, the tickle of it against her skin. Heady reminders. 

“I still can’t believe you’d met Naomi and Kim before.” Trixie said.

“Wanted to surprise you a little today.” Katya supplied. It sounded lame out loud. 

Trixie asked her what she thought of them and Katya relayed what she appreciated about Kim and how she admired Naomi’s confidence and envied her height. Trixie laughed. “Don’t we all.” 

“It’s nice to have a proper group of friends.” The omission of Katya not ever really having had that made her mouth go dry. 

The late afternoon sun turned golden with an orangey hue. Once everyone had sat up again and recharged, laughter filled the air as the park began emptying out. Trixie decided they should tell their funniest work stories, recounting a memory from when she was a retail assistant as a teenager and used to witness a woman brazenly steal perfumes by putting them in her American flag print pants and shuffling out of the shop, her ass seemingly three times the size it was when she first walked in. “And we couldn’t do anything about it except tell security but it got to the point where I didn’t even bother doing that. Like, if you’re intent on stealing five bottles of Curious by Britney Spears, I ain’t gonna stop you.” 

Katya agreed that those going against the capitalist machine, in any way or form, should be protected. Once everyone had laughed at her salute to socialism, she told her own little tale. “I once worked at a tea shop which was owned by secret lesbian lovers. I thought it was going well until one day I turned up and one of them accused me of stealing a load of money from the register. I hadn’t, of course, and I was so hurt that she was convinced I had, so I ran the security tapes of the shop floor and it turned out that she’d left the till open by mistake at the end of the day and a racoon had come and—”

“ _What_?” The group chimed in.

“Ok, that didn’t happen, but she did leave the till open and the cleaner of the building had seen an opportunity and swiped the cash.” 

By evening time, suitably sunned and still full up, Naomi decided to call it a day and, soon after, so did everyone else. Katya hugged Bob and promised to come to one of his events, waved a ‘see you later’ to Kim as she had a session with her in a few day’s time, and air kissed Naomi and Shea’s highlighted cheeks.

Trixie said she was going to walk Katya home, to which Katya couldn’t help but snigger at the others’ reactions. 

“Sure, that’s what they’re calling it these days!” Shea commented, waving them away.

Once they were alone, they set off side by side in comfortable silence. Katya watched a couple of young men skateboard past, the whiff of marijuana following them, and how the trees stood still and calmly against the backdrop of circumambient neighbourhoods. Then, her gaze was drawn back to Trixie. Because it was decided for her that, no matter her surroundings, Trixie would easily steal her attention and dominate it wholeheartedly. 

-

22nd January 2004

So far, having a job is working for me. I’ve finally been able to shake off what happened before Christmas and Leslie and Carol have started to treat me much better. It’s boring and some of the customers can be wack, but having a shift to be up early for curtails my bad habits and I have responsibilities outside of myself and my artwork for the first time. 

I do sometimes feel like a job tourist. Most of my peers rely on their work as their sole form of income. I’m lucky enough that whatever I make goes straight to my parents’ account. My mom’s still happy with the agreement to give me an allowance each month and to cover my rent so I don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not too pleased that she tracks exactly what I spend and asks me what I’ve bought if I’ve withdrawn lump sums but, at the same time, I can’t blame her for being concerned. I know she’s only trying to do her best by me.

Dad and I have only just started talking properly again. He called last night just for a chat, which hasn’t happened since The Breakdown, and it was so fucking nice. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed him because I was too occupied with the embarrassment, anger, shame and seemingly every other emotion under the sun that I was still feeling.

I feel generally OK at the moment. Our spring shows are coming to fruition and it’s hard work (the practical side of things, the artistic side I feel like I’m mastering now and my tutors are thrilled with the directions I’m segueing into, all scholars themselves of the era of the Judson Dance Theatre and Merce Cunnigham). I’ve not been wasted in weeks and I’m only smoking weed. Avi and Madge have been wonderful and we work so fucking well together. We’re presenting a few pieces critiquing and exploring gender roles and presentations within cabaret. Madge is debuting her burlesque performance. 

She gave me a solo show on Saturday. HOT. 

Today I’ve been reflecting in the short breaks between being in the studio and at the tea shop. It’s not like the drugs were making me less of a person. That was my problem already. I needed to get to a certain point, I think, to be able to turn around and go another way. Not the opposite way, because a lot of it is deep set within me. I am this. I am the detritus. 

I think it’s a matter of time and trying to focus on my art without relying on suffering to inform it. A lot of my best work has come from comedic commentary or just being plain weird. I need to remember my worth as an artist doesn’t rely on pain.

I haven’t seen my woman recently. She’s the only thing tempting me to go back to the harder stuff. I don’t think I’ll yield just yet.

KZ :-) 

-

Katya invited Trixie in but she didn’t accept. She was half relieved, half let down and the heat of the day caught up with her, colouring her chest floridly, as the two of them shuffled about in Katya’s doorway. It was the age old dance of wills - who would break first and give in to temptation or cowardliness. Katya was stubborn at the best of times so she stood, defiant with her arms crossed and a smirk plastered on her face. She had been the more forward of the two of them that day. She wanted to see if Trixie was of the persuasion to make it more even.

Trixie stared at her, her expression not quite mirroring Katya’s, more playful and artificially demure. Katya honestly hadn’t thought about Trixie, _this_ Trixie, sexually, too preoccupied with all the other thoughts she evoked, but it was evident that she was the type to play the princess, the falsely innocent. Katya didn’t know if that meant she was therefore Prince Charming or the dragon in the tower.

“You’re frustrating, Katya!” Trixie finally exclaimed, shaking her head but smiling wide.

“I’ve been called worse, you can do better than that, surely?” Katya gave her her toothiest grin. 

Trixie huffed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips so her dress lifted up a few uneven inches. Totally accidental, for sure. “You’ll text me later, yeah? And we’ll go out again?” 

Katya rolled her eyes and softened. “Of course.” 

Trixie beamed, her posture relaxed, the fading of her lipstick in the centre of her lips catching Katya’s eye like a deliberate ploy. “Good. I like being around you.” 

“I suppose I can kind of tolerate being around you too.” 

“Charming. Thank you so much, you know just how to make a gal feel special.” 

Katya smirked again. “Hey, if I didn’t, you’d have ditched talking to me ages ago. You know what you deserve.”

The way Trixie’s face _glowed_ at that... _Fuck_. “And what do I deserve?” She asked as she pressed her body into Katya’s so their stomachs kissed, their noses almost grazing. Katya looked up, then down at where they connected. 

“Just about anything the world could possibly offer you.” 

“Should have been a poet.” Trixie mumbled as she closed the minute remaining distance between them, kissing Katya softly but adamantly, closed lipped but with so much damn feeling nonetheless.

Jesus fucking _Christ_.

Trixie’s lips were like silk against her own - rougher, drier, colder despite the heat that shot through her from her core, up between her lungs in her volatile chest, to settle in her throat like she was choking on it. Katya brought her hands to each side of Trixie’s face, angling her perfectly, keeping her there for fear of her vanishing just as Katya was being eased more and more into the certainty of what was unfolding between them. 

Trixie sighed into their next kiss, her grip coming to Katya’s waist. She clung to her, as if she shared the same worries as Katya, and squeezed what she could of her intermittently. Katya fluttered her eyes open for just a second to capture the moment she never thought would happen. She was euphoric. 

They kept their kisses tame and Katya pulled away, ever so slightly, every so often just to see Trixie follow her and capture her mouth once more, like she couldn’t get enough. Katya both found the restraint torturously necessary and wonderfully thrilling.

They finally broke apart, Trixie bringing a finger to her plush bottom lip and running it along where her lipstick had miraculously barely smudged. Katya let her hands drop away from Trixie’s radiant face. Only then did she realise that she had pins and needles, the fuzzy, internal static of her adrenaline running up and down her fingers a stark reminder that her body had definitely reacted even when her mind had narrow focussed down to the feel of Trixie against her and very little else. 

She would have thought herself dreaming if she wasn’t acutely aware of the difference. 

“Wow.” It took her a few seconds to realise she had spoken out loud.

Trixie most definitely heard her, her foundation covering the blush that Katya knew was under there. “As much as I want to do that all night, I better get going.”

Katya nodded. She needed to decompress. Otherwise, she would have happily devoured Trixie until the early hours but, like gorging on a rich chocolate cake, she figured that wouldn’t be wise. Katya had spent decades trying to get to Trixie. To spoil it all by rushing would do neither of them any good. 

“Text me when you’re home safe.” Katya said, stroking up and down Trixie’s bicep before trailing her hand to circle her wrist. She gave Trixie a short, conclusive kiss and, then, she sent her on her way. As much as it pained her to see her go, she was exultant to be able to truly believe that Trixie would return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vivienne Tam knockoff dress of Katya's is one of my fave outfits of hers and I couldn't resist writing it into my story because jfc she always looks so fucking stunning in it and it gets me every time and wow I'm gay ok goodbye!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT'S GETTING REAL GAY NOW MY BEAUTIES, I PROMISE. I think you'll enjoy this chapter and the next for obvious reasons ;) Please let me know, anyways. Your feedback and comments mean the world to me.

20th May 2005

I’ve graduated. Officially graduated. It’s a relief and a gaping hole in my chest. Despite the problems I’ve had personally, this place has truly been the best thing to happen to me so far. It’s been tough and downright depressing, anxiety inducing and painful sometimes yet simultaneously I know that I have flourished and having other people and opinions and certain restrictions placed upon me has aided me in refining what I make and do. 

If nothing else, I’ve come out of it understanding the self cannot edit the self. Not without falling back on meaningless loathing and critique based on the superficial (personality, shortcomings with social interaction or patterns of thinking), not without the spoiled view which being a living, breathing, present artist places upon art. I can’t separate myself from my work even when I become someone else through it. I’ve had to take public ownership in more ways than one, be it having my name on a little white plaque next to my painting or being right fucking in it as a performer for consumption, or facing my feedback during workshops and assessment periods. 

I can only do what I can and put across what I want and listen to the rumblings I make and change frequency accordingly. These past few years have taught me how to get the balance between sacrificing my initial vision or idea and responding to potential suggestions in lieu of killing it all off completely. Sometimes it makes the process more rewarding than the final product because of the discussion and analysis and the pulling apart of it. Now I can appreciate that my raw creations don’t hold as much weight as ones which have been subject to other opinions. Even if I don’t agree with them and they upset me, they add something. 

(Feedback still makes me shit my pants though. A full diarrhea extravaganza!)

I’ve been hounded by questions about what comes next. As if I’m sensible enough to know. 

However, I’m going to keep my little job at the tea shop for the time being as too much of a shake up of my routine will be detrimental to me. Avi and I are also going to keep filming, and Madge has got a job at a cabaret bar, which I’m going to check out and see if they’d happily accept new, more controversial performers. 

I also want to keep drawing and painting at the rate I have been doing, and continue my rule of one of her, one of something else. 

This is the first time since I can remember where I’ve felt accomplished and positive and realistic about my existence. I’m not contained by misery, yet I’m not chasing highs in feeble attempts at numbing all the bad to pretend I’m good. I still think about death almost every day. Now, however, it’s more of a fascination, a what if? I don’t seek it out but my curiosity remains, like I have an eternal companion. 

OH I almost forgot - I heard from Jen. She’s interning in New York with Betsey Johnson. It’s so funny to think of high-school-Jen walking the corridors of such a place, baggy trousers and ripped jumpers aplenty. She sent me a Polaroid of her outfit from her first day. She still has that edge about her, which I suppose is what landed her the job (as well as her talent, of course), but it’s so polished now! Crazy to think…Gotta hand it to her, though. That’s some fucking score.

KZ :-)

-

The next few weeks were action packed for Katya. She met up with Violet more than she ever had before because Violet had so much gossip that she could fill hours upon hours with both industry whispers and her own shenanigans. She’d kept rather hushed about it, but she had apparently started seeing someone and was rather enamoured, and for Violet to admit such a thing took Katya by surprise, in the best way possible. 

Violet didn’t tend to date, just as Katya didn’t, and she liked the synchronicity of them both happening upon a person who dragged them out of their hovels of isolation and hostility. Violet always wanted a bit of drama and mystery to surround herself with like a feather boa, so Katya didn’t pry for many details. She did discover, however, that Violet’s new fling was blonde, skinny ( _shocker_ ), crazy talented with makeup and had a very laissez faire attitude. Violet was the complete opposite, in that sense, so Katya was glad to hear she’d found someone who might take her down a notch or two.

Fame was due to visit LA for a post-fashion week break at the end of May. Violet had already made plans for the three of them to properly catch up, have dinner and go to a burlesque performance. Katya didn’t mind the presumptuousness of Violet’s arrangements in this instance, and was looking forward to what she’d organised. 

Trixie had been snowed under at work, wedding season preventing her from having a full day off as Saturdays and Sundays were booked up. Katya couldn’t understand why Trixie was putting herself through working seven days a week, especially as, when they talked on the phone a few times at night as Trixie was just getting into bed, feet aching from standing all day, she seemed so worn out. Her exuberance had been laboured out of her. Katya was concerned by how tired she was. It comforted her, however, whenever she was the butt of Trixie’s quick wit or when Trixie made her laugh so hard she thought she would shit the bed. 

“I miss you, you know.” Trixie said one night. Katya was lying upside down so her head hung off the sofa and her feet were wiggling in the air. If it wasn’t for her core strength, she would have fully injured herself from the speed at which she sat up.

“You do?” She asked, genuine wonder uplifting her voice.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like talking with you in whatever way I can and I love my job, but I also like actually seeing you. Sucks that I haven’t been around recently...” Katya beamed to herself like a maniac. She was also endeared by how Trixie clearly fished for Katya to provide a suggestion to resolve their so-called problem. 

Katya didn’t let herself overthink the implications. “I could come over to yours tomorrow night and help you relax and unwind, if you wanted?” 

“You would do that for me?” She sounded so coquettish and that brought out certain _reactions_ in Katya.

“I’m not curing cancer.” Katya deadpanned. “It’s no problem.”

“Ok then.” Trixie said with a little huff of disbelief. “I’ll be back from the set around seven, I think.”

They agreed that Trixie would text her when she was on her way home and Katya would Uber over to hers with a Thai takeaway to heat up. They didn’t explicitly discuss whether Katya would stay over but the suggestion was there nonetheless. Katya decided to get a backpack together so she would have what she needed just in case, whatever the outcome.

When that text arrived, Katya was standing by her door, waiting, her app open and ready to use without wasting a second. She ordered her car, locked her front door and stood on the street, pocketing her phone in order to rummage in her bag and check, one last time, that she had remembered everything.

At the bottom of her backpack was a small toiletry bag of essentials; her deodorant (she couldn’t depend on using someone else’s as it probably wasn’t at all strong enough), some face wipes, her travel toothbrush and a few pads just in case, plus a change of underwear. She was wearing her purposefully ugly, graffiti print T-bar shoes from Burberry and so didn’t need socks. Thinking of what was best, practically, she had showered that afternoon and had chosen a comfy outfit that she could also rewear the following day - an Eckhaus Latta colour-block dress and a black Actual Negative hoodie she’d bought the last time she was in Russia. 

Like always, her clothing decisions were strategic. She wanted Trixie to ask what the words printed down her sleeves meant, to have the safe topic of linguistics to fall back on if she felt too out of her depth. She also couldn’t quash her desire to say everything she couldn’t otherwise in a language Trixie would never understand. She’d done something similar before. Now, with two decades’ worth of declarations, she felt as if she could talk all through the night, for it to fall on deaf ears but hang in the tension between them nonetheless. Would Trixie understand, even just an iota, from how she would confess it all, from the way her lips would form or how she herself would embody her words? It was pure fantasy to wonder but it was alluring, too. The appeal and ordeal of being known.

Trixie lived in a three bedroom house share in East Hollywood, on North Ardmore Avenue. It was an unassuming residential area and Katya couldn’t help but compare it to her own, noting the differences between the standards of upkeep and how there were much fewer palm trees and way more iron railings, both around the properties and on their windows. It wasn’t at all a dire place to live but it made Katya appreciate the effort her family had put in to ensure she found somewhere best suited to her. Before then, she had admittedly taken it for granted that they had rallied around, solely because it was a given - her mom wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Katya thanked her driver, shouldered her bag and walked slowly up the driveway, where Trixie’s car was parked next to a larger, clearly second hand four by four. Trixie had messaged her when she was en route to say her housemates were miraculously out for the evening and so they would have the place to themselves, at least for a little while. Katya was intrigued by what the inside of the building looked like, considering the outside of it was not at all what she’d pictured for Trixie. 

Taking in the details had curtailed Katya’s nerves and, when she knocked on the front door, she made sure to stand tall, to mould herself into the figure of a woman who was sure of what was about to happen. 

Trixie greeted her with a megawatt smile, hair tied up in a high ponytail so her loose curls bounced behind her as she moved. She looked so tired but so damn gorgeous and Katya kissed her right there and then, unable to do anything other than press her bare lips to Trixie’s almost-neon ones. 

Katya pulled back first to survey her properly. “Hi.” She said, breathlessly, as she studied where Trixie’s foundation had oxidised and had begun to look oily and ready for removal. Her eye shadow and liner were still impeccable but they didn’t hide how she’d popped a blood vessel nor how the brightness Katya had come to associate her with just wasn’t there. 

“Hey, you. You look beautiful.” Trixie complimented her, giving her the once over and fingering the thin knit of her dress. “This is nuts.” 

Katya laughed then peered over Trixie’s shoulder, looking straight into the kitchen and lounge area.

The containers of food were stacked on top of Katya’s toiletries and purse, ready to be whipped out and warmed up as soon as possible. Trixie led her inside and motioned for her to leave her shoes on a rack by the door. The floors were wooden and spotless and the walls, though painted a dull beige colour, were adorned with cute photographs and vintage makeup adverts. The kitchen was immediately to their left. The oak cupboards were dated and the black appliances didn’t match the rest of the decor but the worktops and splashbacks were made of cute, baby pink tiles. “These are adorable.” Katya made sure to exclaim as she lifted out their food to place on the side. 

Trixie scratched the back of her neck and it was only then that it truly hit Katya - Trixie had seen Katya’s place, its white walls and brand new fittings and the clearly affluent neighbourhood it was situated in. It might have been intimidating, she thought, for Trixie to have Katya judging her rental. 

“Why don’t you show me where the microwave and all your shit is then you can relax and I can sort you out? You won’t have to lift a finger.” Katya suggested, noting how Trixie had moved her hand to rub at her shoulder. 

Trixie did just that, opening a draw where her cutlery was kept and a cupboard next to the microwave where her glasses were. “I want wine. There’s a bottle of white in the fridge. I have some juices and some infused water in there for you, too, get whatever you want.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the fridge.

Katya took in her clothing, how she’d put on some pink joggers and was wearing the same oversized t-shirt she had to yoga. She looked so fucking cute. Katya just wanted to bundle her up and squeeze her and smush her face against hers until they were practically melded together. _Jesus_. 

“Go take your makeup off and do whatever the fuck you do to keep that face of yours so fucking soft and moisturised. I’ll have everything ready by the time you’re done.” 

Trixie took a few tentative steps towards her, then flung her arms around Katya’s shoulders and buried her face in her neck, sniffing her perfume. Katya rubbed soothing patterns into her back for a while as they stood together in peaceful silence. Then, she patted at her, whispering a gentle, “Go on.” 

Trixie shuffled towards the corridor and, when she turned around to give Katya another of her precious smiles, the spark in her eyes was returning. Not completely, not yet, but something was there and Katya vowed to herself to do whatever she could to bring Trixie back to full vitality. 

-

2nd November 2005

We’ve started to use my apartment as a rehearsal space and studio. Madge and Avi can’t afford to rent an actual studio so I suggested turning my living room into whatever we need it to be. Our application for a submission to the Krakow Witkin Gallery needs to be sorted by the end of the month, ready for review in mid December. Recently, we’ve been researching any and all places who are open to submissions. Whilst I definitely wouldn’t call my work minimalist, I’ve been wanting to showcase a canvas of Her I partially destroyed and I think it would fit there very well. They feature a lot of monochromatic stuff and their current exhibition includes a lot of works which are missing elements or appearing deconstructed in some way. 

Avi and Madge are joining forces to submit a video piece. I personally don’t feel like that’s the gallery’s vibe but I’d be made the fuck up if, against the odds, theirs was selected. The egotism I possess surrounding art is more about self absorption than competition or thinking I am worthy or deserving over the efforts of others. Art is subjective and this is the most basic statement I have ever made on the topic but sometimes it needs to be reinforced. People forget the simplest of things. It’s a matter of like or don’t. With a smattering of connections and privilege of course but, generally, the saying stands. 

I took down my shrine last week. Finding suitable storage for it all has been a bit of a struggle and I’ve had to keep the portrait of her I want to use for my submission out, obviously. Madge and Avi said it’s one of my best and I trust that they’re not just pontificating to ensure I don’t waste away with anxiety in the run up to the deadline. Madge, in particular, is always forthcoming and outright with her critiques and, whilst I don’t often agree with them or see the same supposed weaknesses as she does, it helps to know she won’t let me slip into mediocrity or become delusional with doubt.

I have a few slight changes I want to make to it but it’ll be ready to take to get a printed copy of in a couple of days if I’m focussed and on schedule. 

Depending on how this submission goes, I might cut my hours at the tea shop. At the moment, I’m still content with how it takes up time that I might otherwise dangerously waste away but if I get picked up by the gallery, I should definitely concentrate on creating, not sharing my energy with helping sixty year old women read my handwritten signs advertising special offers. That’s not my calling, ma’am. 

Part of me can’t quite believe I’m letting myself show Her to other people. It’s easier with her face obscured by my rage, my desperate clutches at whatever I had to hand to disguise her beauty and saintly expression and grace, and the notes I’ve compiled to give in along with the print are completely made up to fit what I expect the gallery would like to hear. 

I know that might come across as contradictory to what I’ve written above but, well, it all makes sense to me. There’s a difference between understanding the system - upholding the secrecy of a personal piece of art - and trying to rig things in my favour. That’s not what this is at all. 

In other news, I went to my first yoga class today. It had been bothering me that the only physical practice I was doing was either performance pieces and their rehearsals, or dancing in the clubs before fucking a random woman for the night. Since giving up gymnastics completely, I haven’t put my energy into purposeful movement/positioning. Yoga’s starting to become trendy in LA, I’ve heard, which is never a reason to get into something, clearly, but I gave it a go and I fucking love it. I’ve another class booked for tomorrow. 

This is not to say that I’m going to give up sex as my form of physical activity ha! I’m getting hornier by the second for some reason. I guess no longer wanting to kill myself all the time has freed my libido. Yay!

KZ :-)

-

Katya had ordered spring rolls, pad thai and vegan green curry, along with mango and sticky rice for dessert. She poured out a large glass of wine for Trixie and placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa where she thought it best for them to eat. The glass began to sweat just as she did, the reality of what she was doing and who she was doing it for almost too remarkable and daunting to comprehend. 

Once the food had heated, she plated it all up so they both had an equal share of everything, and she put their dessert in the fridge for later. She downed two glasses of water, refilled her glass then tentatively perched on the right hand side of the sofa so she could angle her body towards where Trixie would come out from the hallway, undoubtedly fresh faced and glowing. 

She listened out for the rustles of movement, the heavy tread of her steps and, when Trixie finally appeared, let out a cleansing breath.

Trixie sans makeup was perhaps the most exquisite sight Katya had ever had the honour of witnessing. She had spent an entire day in the Hermitage, studying its ornateness like it was the knowledge of life; she had boggled at Спас на Крови and climbed to the top of St Isaac’s Cathedral to have a perfect view of the entire city of St Petersburg; she had been to some of the most stunning places on earth. None of it compared to Trixie.

Something about her expression, or the whole situation, must have caught Trixie off guard. She stopped in her tracks, first looking down at the spread Katya had put out for her, then up at where Katya gawked - her mouth hung open, comical and wide, and her eyebrows raised so her forehead wrinkled. 

Trixie’s cheeks were round and pink, her nose a lot larger than she contoured it to appear and her eyes, no longer masked by her fan of lashes, were honest enough to break someone’s heart.

“Come here.” Katya said once the chance of them staring at each other for longer than socially acceptable grew by the second.

Trixie’s smile was wonky and endearing, her lips thin in comparison to how she drew them on, and her teeth were uneven, a tale of her childhood, her origins, against the conformity of Hollywood ideals plastered on posters and ad campaigns and on screens large and small. 

Not quite sure what Katya intended, Trixie came to stand in front of her. It took all of Katya’s restraint not to lift her t-shirt up and bury her face in her pudgy stomach, to kiss her, bite her fat rolls and unleash herself onto her in a way neither of them were probably prepared for just yet. She took each of her hands and led her to sit down, right next to her so their thighs pressed together and their shoulders bumped whenever they moved.

“Tuck in, you hard working thing.” Katya crooned and placed a gentle kiss behind Trixie’s ear, smelling the day on her, the diminishment of her perfume, her exertion. It was intoxicating. 

“Thank you. This all looks amazing.” Trixie asked where she ordered from and checked Katya was alright with only eating veggie, to which Katya made a stupid, dirty joke about meat so she could hear Trixie laugh out her demonic bird noises again. 

Katya didn’t think it strange that, save for their chatter, the rest of the place was silent. In the past, it might have unnerved her to not have background music or to watch something mindless on Netflix. With Trixie, it would have been an insult to have something else try and clamour for her attention. Katya listened as Trixie complained about uncooperative people at work, about how the director of the indie film she was assisting on kept messaging her at ridiculous times and making unrealistic demands of not only her, but the entire cast and crew. 

“Why do you put up with it?” Katya asked. Not in the sense that she thought Trixie was stupid for doing so, but out of genuine interest in how she approached such hardships. Katya had never needed to.

Trixie rolled her eyes. She wasn’t angry but the way in which she fixed Katya with a withering stare afterwards indicated she had rubbed her ignorance in a little too obviously. “I have to live, I have bills to pay and everything is so damn expensive when you’re freelance - my car, my kit. I don’t think you’ll get it but it’s reality for me.”

“I admire your ethics.” Katya said. “And I’m not trying to placate you or compliment you to gloss over my, er, misunderstandings, I guess is what you’d call it, I don’t know. I’m not at all hardworking. You’ve got the kind of drive that makes me think.”

Trixie, in the midst of taking a big bite of the most generously filled spring roll, told her she’d let her off for the time being. “Now shut up,” She demanded, her mouth full so the power behind her words was muffled, before taking the rest of the roll and shoving it in between Katya’s lips, “You fucking rich bitch. You’re going to listen to me moan about more work shit until we’re done and then you can do whatever you want with me.”

-

21st December 2005

MY PAINTING WAS ACCEPTED. MY FUCKING PAINTING IS GOING TO BE IN AN ACUTAL GALLERY IN BOSTON HOLY FUCKING SHIT BASTARD COCK BITCH!!!!

I got the call this morning while I was at work and I took it right there on the shop floor because fuck it I’M AN ACTUAL FEATURED ARTIST. Apparently, the director himself reviewed the works and even forwarded my submission to Barbara and Andrew, who gave positive feedback. They said the subject seemed ‘familiar, like a ghost of a person they all knew’ but ‘distant enough to offer intrigue’. FUCK!

I don’t think I’ve mentioned in here that the portrait itself was the destruction of my woman as the eight foot bride. I don’t know why I keep forgetting to document that. I guess because her influence on my work is skin deep now, second nature, like the very first time I saw her - she permeated what I knew and now know. The bride - she doesn’t perform on the street anymore, as far as I’m aware, because she’s part of a band and has gained a lot of success, and they say to never meet your heroes, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to tell her about how she changed the course of my history. It was a small divergence but it had such an impact nevertheless. 

God...My work is going to be in an actual, accredited gallery. I can’t believe it.

Avi and Madge were sadly not successful with their submission, but I’ve encouraged them to keep applying to places with a more visual focus and hopefully, one day, they’ll experience what I am doing right now. 

I expected rejection. I told myself over and over that I’m not good enough, that my visions are too insular, too special to me to reach out to others and provide the same (or a close enough) feeling. To be proven wrong...WOW. 

We’re all going out tonight to celebrate. 

Mom and Dad are coming into the city this weekend and are taking me out to dinner. It’s the first time in a while I feel like I’m not hiding anything from them. Of course, there’s always Her. But that’s something that will never come to light, as far as I can help it. It’s also the first time they’ve said they’re proud of me since...well.

I’m just so fucking pleased. (I will not let the voices in my head tell me anything bad just yet. Shut up, I’m going to commend myself because I’ve spent so fucking long doing the complete opposite.)

KZ :-D

-

Katya dumped everything in the sink. She washed her hands and resisted splashing cold water on her face in a feeble attempt to calm herself down. She knew nothing would sate her until she kissed every part of Trixie she was allowed to. 

Rounding the corner, she smiled as Trixie, slouched into the sofa, replied to a message on her phone, her fingers tapping quickly on her screen, her face scrunched. Katya didn’t want to be a total dick, but she boldly came to her and snatched it out of her hands anyway, throwing it to the side carelessly. “Enough.” 

Trixie’s head snapped up, her jaw slackening, and her natural blonde eyebrows upturned so innocently. Katya couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“If at any point, I’m being too bossy or doing something you’re not down with, make sure you tell me.” Katya murmured, encapsulating the whole ‘consent is sexy’ thing with the sway of her hips as she sauntered to stand directly in front of Trixie. She whipped her hoodie off over her head and threw it in the same direction as Trixie’s phone. Trixie’s eyes tracked its movement. “Hey.” As much as she was thrilled by how evident it was that Trixie had been left floored enough to be struck silent, this was the one time she needed her full capacity. 

“Of course.” Trixie managed, swallowing hard. Katya watched her throat bob.

“Lie on your front.”

Trixie did as she was told straight away and Katya took notice. Then, she hitched up her dress and positioned herself with one knee each side of Trixie’s full hips. Trixie let out a gasp once Katya settled down and sat on the backs of her legs, having cottoned on to what Katya was about to do, ensuring her ponytail was out of the way and that Katya would be able to reach up her t-shirt. 

“I’m ok to touch you?” Katya checked, not out of politeness but because the total disbelief at her current reality prodded at her like the devil’s tail. Amid the excitement and the pleasure, she feared that everything would be taken away from her in an instant. 

Trixie almost whimpered. “Please.” 

The twinge between her legs eradicated all thought beyond making Trixie feel good. It didn’t take much and yet the first spikes of arousal she experienced were sharper and more defined than she could have imagined herself. She still wasn’t sure whether anything _like that_ would happen between them that night but the possibility of it was infinitely sweeter than the mango dessert she had neglected in the fridge, than the countless other nights she had spent alone.

Katya rubbed her hands together to heat them up before she pressed them into Trixie’s lower back. The cotton of her t-shirt wasn’t that soft but Katya wanted to tease Trixie for a while first, before they made skin to skin contact. She altered her pressure, took note of what was too much by how Trixie’s glutes tensed or what wasn’t enough, her feeble whines not exactly the kinds of noises Katya wanted to elicit. She swept her hands up Trixie’s spine to where her shoulders hunched closer to her ears than Katya thought comfortable and pushed her thumbs onto the bumps of particularly tough knots in order to massage them away. Some took a long while to decrease in size or hardness but Katya slipped out of the constraints of time, too focussed and stimulated to care. 

“Katya…” Trixie half whispered, half moaned. Katya closed her eyes as if blocking out the other senses would strengthen her ability to only hear Trixie say her name so beautifully. 

Katya leant over Trixie’s back and blew on the tiny errant curls at the nape of her neck. Trixie visibly shivered so Katya did it again, this time directing her breath to the slot behind her left ear. Trixie had mushed her face into a cushion and the fantasies such an image unlocked in Katya’s mind were far beyond what she’d let herself think of before. “Is this nice?” Katya asked, smirking against Trixie’s heated cheek.

“So nice. Keep going.”

Katya placed her hands under the hem of Trixie’s shirt, pushing her spindly fingers into the abundant flesh of Trixie’s waist, into the columns of aching muscle surrounding her vertebrae. She dragged the pressure upwards, smoothing over Trixie’s velvet skin. If it wasn’t an act of rest and relaxation for Trixie’s benefit, Katya would have kissed her, taken her clothes from her body and taken what she wanted. She wasn’t a selfless person but, in that moment, for Trixie, she knew she wanted to do everything for her, forget herself in Trixie’s concrete form. 

She continued her massage, spreading her caresses beyond Trixie’s shoulders to ease her biceps and circle her elbows, to squeeze the palms of her hands and pull on her digits. 

“Do you have any oils or moisturiser or something?” Katya’s voice sounded wrecked even in her own ears. She was trying so damn hard to repress the heat building within her. 

Trixie raised her head at that, propping herself on her forearms so she could turn to look at Katya. “Don’t you dare move away from me for one second.”

Katya laughed at Trixie’s insistence. “Alright, alright! Jeez, I knew my touch was addictive but…” 

Before Katya could properly finish her sentence or stupidly wink with over exaggeration, Trixie roughly grabbed her hand, pulling her forward so she lay on top of her. Katya got the hint, breathing into her hair before dragging her nose down the back of her neck. She shoved her hands underneath Trixie for stability and restraint. 

“I’m not squashing you am I?”

Trixie snorted. “As if.” 

They lay like that, stacked and warm, with Katya pressing kisses to whatever patch of bare skin she could reach at random intervals. 

“What else can I do for you?” She asked eventually, so at peace that she forgot to speak, to do anything other than wrap herself around Trixie’s recuperating body. 

Trixie reached under herself and took hold of one of Katya’s hands and brought it to her lips, kissing her knuckles before linking their fingers. “Tell me something.”

Katya’s heart skipped a beat. But she was used to shoving it back on track.

Bringing her lips to the shell of Trixie’s ear, she grazed them against the deconstructed spiral of cartilage. “I want to put my hands all over you. You’re so fucking stunning. Being close to you like this is doing things to me.”

“Mmm, what kind of things?” 

“The kind of things an old hag like me doesn’t get to experience that often.” Trixie huffed a laugh. “I want to make you feel like you haven’t worked yourself ragged, to make you forget about everyone else for now.” 

“You know just how to sweet talk a gal, don’t you?” 

“I know how to do much more than that.”

“I can’t wait to find out.” 

-

18th June 2006

Hosting your own show and all the damn organisation that goes into it is hell on earth. SIM prepared me well but none of what we did there comes close to doing it practically all by yourself in the big bad real world. I felt like I’ve given everything of myself that I possibly could and yet simultaneously it doesn’t seem like that’s enough. I’m so fucking tired and hungover and I’m on a small come down (very small, ok, I just needed some meth to get through opening night and I’m not doing it again until I have to speak in front of a crowd - I don’t need to justify myself because these are the ways I have to manipulate the system in order to actually function as the kind of person who has their own fucking exhibition) and it all feels massive and intolerable and inconsequential. I am one undetectable speck on the art scene canvas. I suppose it gets easier once more people are familiar with you and are willing to help you out. All I’ve experienced since being featured at Krakow Witkin is SO WHAT? 

In the grand scheme of things, my exhibition has slotted into place. I’ve grafted, of course I have, but I think an artist with better organisational skills and general confidence might have swanned around the place in the lead up to opening night, at ease with it all. That’s how I always pictured myself, my ideal self. But that’s the thing about idealism - it isn’t attainable and the irony is truly not lost on me that at the very moment I’m putting myself out there for consumption, the version of me I wanted to be doing that is as out of reach as my woman is.

It was heartwarming, despite how weird I probably acted before them, to see my professors from SIM there, to hear them sing my praises. The space I’ve got is in an abandoned garage and it’s small and a bit seedy and dirty but that all adds to the up and coming charm. I think so anyway. I don’t think Dan quite got it all. Fucking lawyers! I’m just glad he came alone. He was real cute, to be fair. Taking pictures on his new digital camera I got him for his birthday. He said he was going to get them all printed to send to all our relatives, even the babushkas back in Russia! I hope he was joking there...

I asked mom and dad not to come. I think they were disappointed and hurt but I tried to explain that I couldn’t stand before them and not have a complete meltdown because their approval can change my entire perception of what I’ve done. I think mom understood. Dad didn’t say anything except that they’re coming into the city next week (something to do with his business partner, I don’t know, I tune out when they talk about that shit) and so will come and see it all then. They gave me the option to meet them before or after but didn’t give me the option of not meeting them at all. Ha! I’ll worry about that when I don’t feel like I’m gonna barf up all the cocktails I had last night.

God, it’s fucking weird. 

Avi and Madge have two pieces we all worked on together on a tiny tv in one corner, and projected for audience participation against a blank wall. I’m so glad I could give them the chance to have something up. Avi’s getting a lot more editing and videographer gigs now, thank fuck, and Madge is still loving what she’s doing at Jacques, so I’m pleased. I’d feel so guilty if I somehow ended up getting more recognition than them because, really, they have a much stronger work ethic and determination. They want it even more than I do. 

Now I just have to wait and see what the overall reaction is, and what comes next. I have an interview with a small Boston based art publication, which I’ve forgotten the name of just now, due to be conducted next week. My dealer’s a lot more grateful than I am. All I know is I’ve got to strike while the iron is hot and if I see that critics or whoever, really, have warmed to my fucked up drawings and murals and performances then I need to ensure I have more of where all that came from, ready to go to wherever the hell wants it.

I don’t know how I’m going to hold it all together. I’d be fucking stupid not to try.

KZ :-?

-

Trixie’s bedroom was curated. It wasn’t large in size and there wasn’t much natural light as her window faced the building next door, but the fairy lights hung around her headboard and the candles she had lit provided whatever was lacking. She had a huge mirrored, fitted wardrobe along one side of the room. Behind her door on a hook were a selection of silk robes, all of the pastel variety, all seemingly vintage apart from one which was on top, recently worn, and had her initials sewn on the front. She had a few succulents and potted plants and a fucking shit tonne of Barbies, all positioned in supposedly some particular order in a floor to ceiling case of shelves. 

Her floor was wooden like the rest of the place but she had placed a soft, baby pink rug to fill the space between her bed and her wardrobe. Her bed itself was pushed against the wall with the window so she had more room to prance around as she got dressed, she had told Katya as she gave her a tour. “And this,” She had pointed to her vanity, next to her Barbies, “Is where I create my magic.” 

“Should have known you were a wizard. The beard gives it all away.” Katya had quipped, earning her a scream laugh. 

After Trixie had finished showing Katya around, Katya came to her so they stood with barely an inch to separate them. Katya reached up, taking Trixie’s cute scrunchy out of her hair so it tumbled down, free and glossy. She threw the hair tie onto Trixie’s dresser then ran her hands through the many wavy strands, untangling a few and putting them in some sort of order, only for her to mess it all up again as she took a handful in a tighter grip. 

Trixie moaned, her eyelids fluttering, and when she parted her lips, Katya brought her own to meet them, kissing her like she’d wanted to all evening. She licked across Trixie’s bottom lip before sucking on it, gently at first, gaging Trixie’s reactions, the way she gripped at Katya’s sides, the way she let out a shaky breath into Katya’s open, eager mouth. Then, she deepened the kiss as she began to massage Trixie’s scalp, pulling on her hair ever so slightly every now and then. Trixie melted into her, wrapping her arms around Katya’s shoulders. Katya adored feeling the weight of her, the reminder that she was real and present and right there with her. 

When they pulled apart, Katya felt lightheaded. It was too good. 

“Lie down.” She instructed. Trixie bit her lip, evidently reluctant to let Katya out of her grasp, yet, after giving her one more kiss, she sat down on top of her covers and shuffled back so her hair fanned out on her crisp white pillows. The way she looked at her. _God_. It was heated and tender and Katya recognised the wondrous responsibility she was to undertake, to treat her like the fucking gift she was. 

“I want to take my dress off and I want you to watch.” She said, matter of factly, too pent up to beat around the bush. 

Trixie sat up instantaneously, leaning on her elbows, and Katya laughed at how unashamedly keen she was, how she was unafraid to let Katya see how affected she had become by mere suggestion. 

“Show me all of that hot yoga bod.” 

Katya didn’t waste time. She reached for her hem, lifting her dress up and off in one swoop, leaving it in a messy pile, to reveal the underwear set she had picked out specifically for this moment. In the day to day, she didn’t bother with anything fancy but she wanted to give Trixie the whole experience. 

Katya’s breasts were small and she didn’t favour the type of underwear that dug in, that pushed up or served to contain. The bra she had chosen was black and embroidered with silk lily petals. Its soft triangular cups were held up by delicate spaghetti straps and created a v neck, showing off Katya’s lack of cleavage and her protruding collar bones. The mesh body of the bra finished just above her waist, the tips of the petals stitched upon it creating an undulating pattern against the stark contrast of her pale skin. 

Her briefs matched - the lilies covered her pubic hair whilst the back was sheer and met above the small swell of her ass cheeks with a saucy peephole in a diamond shape. She looked and felt hotter than she could ever remember. Solely because of how Trixie’s face flushed, how she visibly squeezed her legs together as she crossed one over the other. 

“Holy shit.” Trixie whispered. “Fuck me, please fuck me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about anyone else but my anxiety has sure been through the fuckin' roof this week with everything going on in the world. I hope this chapter can provide some momentary escapism (and maybe even pleasure). Thank you for reading. I hope you're all well and that your loved ones are too xx

12th January 2007

I MADE IT. I’VE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO THE INSTITUTE OF CONTEMPORARY ART. I’M GOING TO HAVE A WHOLE FUCKING EXHIBITION IN THE MOST FUCKING IMPORTANT MODERN ART MUSEUM IN BOSTON. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY FUCKING GOD!

I got the email this morning and I handed my notice in at the tea shop this afternoon. Holy fucking shit. My tiny little ant brain can’t comprehend this. I’ve not told anyone else yet. I need it to feel real to me first. 

Fuck, Vada’s reading was so damn accurate. I’m gonna have to go to her before anyone else, I think. I feel the need to thank her, even though that’s not how it works, and to check if there’s anything else she sees for me, anything else I need to keep my third eye on. I feel like I should ask her for a spell (or fifteen) for protection. 

Shit. Jen’s gonna flip. Madge is gonna cream her pants. Avi’s gonna be so damn lovely like always and ask if I need any support. MY PARENTS. Fuck. Dad’s going to tell all his business associates and I’ll be the news of all the Boston suburban dinner parties for the next few weeks. Haha! I might surprise them this weekend and go back to tell them in person. I need to call Shannon and Dan too but not before I’ve told mom and dad - I can’t believe I’m thinking all this out. This is what I need to think of now!

FUCK.

Subject to confirmation, my exhibition is called ‘Help Me I’m Dying’. Suitably tongue in cheek, it’s a mixture of recorded performances, paintings and photographs concluding the past decade of my struggles with wanting to kill myself but, like, in a funny way. I’ve come out the other side enough to be able to show the humour of it, to address my vulnerabilities in such a manner as to diminish them into something manageable, not as scary. The directors liked how I balanced precariously on the brink of offensive and cathartic. I was worried some of it was so personal (in that, it could have alienated or enraged others who have struggled or are still struggling with mental illnesses) and I wouldn’t have made an impact. That’s not the case apparently…!

I get three large walls, according to the email. My contract is being drawn up and, if nothing is changed, it seems like I get complete control over how my shit is set out. I’ll probably pay Avi to help me sort out the practical stuff. I have a clear image of what I want the stands I’ll place my screens on to look like and I know that Avi will be able to make them, make it all happen. I can’t change how the gallery puts its information beside each individual piece but I want to hand paint my artist blurb so it somewhat matches the style of my paintings. I guess that’s all up for negotiation. I don’t know how this works! 

For once, the uncertainty is exciting. 

The photos I unearthed from the first time I self harmed were just as stunning as I remembered them to be. That heart shape - wow. How did it form so perfectly? How did I manage to create such a thing when all I wanted to do was destroy? And I found an old roll of film from a few years ago when I tried to take a picture of Her and all that’s there in shot is the mess of my drug paraphernalia, two empty bottles of vodka and a denim lampshade I’d made that I ended up putting on my head for some reason. I tried to take a self portrait but it came out so badly framed that you can only really see my chin and my laughing mouth from underneath the rim of the lampshade. Those two images next to each other, I feel, pretty much sum up what it was like to be me at that point. 

The video I recorded with Avi last fall (my ‘Life as a Russian Woman’ monologue) I think fits perfectly too. According to feedback, that was perceived as one of my strongest pieces. I’m super proud of it. Mom loves that one as well, she laughed all the way through when I showed her. I hope it makes everyone else who sees it laugh too. Everyone needs a bit of respite. 

Holy shit. It’s just not sunk in. People from all over the world, not just Boston, not just locals who have heard of me from a friend of a friend, not just my SIM peers and tutors, are going to see my art. I am going to be VISIBLE. And it is me. Parts of me that add up with the real life mess I am to formulate KATYA, my experiences, my tribulations. My way of dealing with it all, the burden and embarrassment and hilarity of existence. 

HOLY SHIT! 

KZ :-D

-

Katya crawled over Trixie so her hair fell down and tickled her skin. Trixie reached up and tried to tuck her disobedient strands behind her ears and they both laughed when the two of them were faced with too much platinum blonde between them. Katya kissed Trixie, kissed the laughter out of her. She was on her knees, not quite straddling Trixie but leaning forward with her hands each side of her head. She shimmied a little further down so she could kiss Trixie’s neck, lick where her pulse raced and bite down, not hard enough to leave a mark, but insistent enough to elicit one filthy moan after another. Katya felt Trixie grapple at her bare back. Her neat nails scratched her and she shivered from it. 

She raised her head to kiss Trixie’s lips once more, her tongue wetting them and the skin of her chin, the side of her cheek. She could taste all the products she had used, the oils and serums and the potent chemicals. She slid her tongue against Trixie’s to recapture the flavour of her again. 

As they kissed, she reached under Trixie’s t-shirt to pull on the material. It only got so far until she had to tell Trixie to sit up for a second. Once she got it over her head and away, she took in the vision before her, under her, ready and waiting and willing for all she would do. 

Katya trailed her hand from Trixie’s neck, featherlight, down to stroke each of her collar bones, across to where her bra straps agitated her skin after so many hours of wear. She pulled each strap aside so they flopped down her shoulders and she kissed where there were pink marks, where there was an imprint of a laced pattern. She kept watch of Trixie’s expressions, tracking the details upon her face as if she were studying an elaborate painting, creating one herself, whilst she brought her hand over her voluptuous breasts. She grabbed and massaged and took whatever hold she could in whatever way made Trixie inhale the sharpest. 

Then, she continued her path, down her quivering stomach, beyond her hips to the top of her waistband. She sat to the side of Trixie’s legs as she wrangled her free of her joggers, exposing her chunky thighs, her smooth calves, her ankles. Trixie curled her toes and Katya smiled at how her nails were painted pink. “Jesus Christ, you’re an absolute femme dream.” 

Trixie huffed a laugh, tilting her chin down to peer at Katya from where she lay. “I have been told…”

Katya surveyed her, hungrily, desperately, taking in her magenta eyelash-lace briefs and the satin trims on them which were a shade or two paler, the cute little diamante charm at the top, and how they hugged her shape. She kissed her way back up her stomach until she was mere millimeters away from Trixie’s lips, not touching, just breathing, focussing. The two of them stared at each other and Katya felt stripped naked, like Trixie could see every possible part of her. 

Katya unhooked Trixie’s bra, took it away. Trixie’s nipples puckered from exposure, the fair hair around them standing on end. Katya dipped her head and wrapped her lips around her right nipple, bringing her left hand to pinch her other at the same time. She sucked hard then grazed her teeth on the surrounding skin, listening to Trixie’s hisses when it got verging on the edge of too much. She was sensitive.

“Katya.” Trixie warned, her breath becoming more laboured. “I swear if you don’t eat me out right now, I’m going to murder you.”

“Oh kinky, I love a bit of homicide to spice things up.” Katya smirked but moved down the bed nonetheless, hooking her thumbs under the dainty material of Trixie’s briefs. There was a visible wet patch and Katya licked over it, feeling Trixie’s heat through the silk, smelling her arousal, strong and heady. Trixie wriggled. She gasped, harshly, deeply. 

“Lift up.”

Trixie rose her hips and Katya pulled down her underwear. Katya’s mouth filled with saliva as she uncovered her and she bit her lip, chest heaving. Katya could see how wet she was, how pearls of it caught in her pubic hair. She decided to tease Trixie one last time, leaning over her to kiss her parted lips, sloppy and with probably too much tongue. Trixie whined into it, then moaned as she tried to push her hips up further to get some kind of friction, to no avail. 

Katya copied her exact actions against Trixie’s cunt, kissing her there like she had her mouth, using the flat of her tongue to lick long, slow stripes up to her clit, in between her folds. She kissed her again and again, her nose rubbing at her as she gripped her shaking thighs. Katya hummed into the next kiss she planted, right on her hood, sucking as much of her as she could into her mouth, the taste of her dominating her senses. She pinned Trixie down and pushed her face right between her legs, making circles around her clit as Trixie’s moans became louder and louder. 

Katya hummed against her. Her chin was covered in Trixie’s wetness, her fingers ached from how tightly she held onto her yet she couldn’t control herself, bobbing her head up and down as her movements got clumsier, more urgent. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Trixie repeated. Katya stole a few glances up at her when she paused for air. She looked positively wrecked. Her face was screwed up, her head tilted as far back into the pillows as physically possible and her hands tore at her sheets, knuckles turning white. Katya was thankful for how Trixie nudged at her shoulders with her knees. A confirmation - it was all still real.

Pointing her tongue, she applied pressure to her entrance, hinting but not going further. She lapped at her again but then quickly returned to her clit, this time not holding back, intent on making Trixie come. Trixie started to struggle under Katya’s weight as she tried to meet Katya’s licks with the thrust of her hips. She was close, it was clear, so Katya quickened her pace even more so, rubbing her whole face against her in a fervent frenzy. 

“I’m going to—” Trixie choked out, the rest of her words swallowed by the force of her orgasm, her high pitched outcry filling the room. Katya worked her through it, kissing the insides of her thighs where her hands had been before. She listened to Trixie getting her breath back and smiled against her skin as she jerked from an unexpected aftershock. 

Katya hadn’t fucked in months upon months and, although her own body was reacting so strongly - so fucking strongly - she was desperate to make Trixie come in as many ways as possible, to revel in how she climaxed differently depending on the stimulation, the position. It was as if Katya had gotten a taste and now she was insatiable. 

“Come up here and kiss me properly.” Katya could hear the delight in Trixie’s voice. She chased her words, her kiss, her whole being.

-

27th March 2007 

It was mine and Nadia’s one month anniversary yesterday. I didn’t think of myself as the type of person to celebrate that kind of thing but everything’s different with her. I can’t quite determine if it’s because I’m still relatively clean (or, more accurately, a lot better at disguising my usage to the point that she just thinks I do a little weed on occasion) or if I truly do have very strong feelings for her - unlike how I’ve been ever since the Michele thing. 

She had the day off from the gallery today so I went to hers last night and we fucked non-stop, only taking a break to order takeout from her favourite Indian place, whose dishes, she said, reminded her of her Nani’s from when she used to visit as a child. I love listening to her stories from India and it pained me when she first explained why she hasn’t been back there since her teen years. I don’t want to be the privileged asshole who spews the whole ‘maybe one day it’ll be better and more accepting’ but, for her, I want to at least send that kind of energy out into the universe. It’s better than not thinking about it at all. 

We discuss it quite regularly from an intellectual standpoint. She told me last night that she’s considering doing a postgrad on the very subject, if Boston Uni would fund her research and fieldwork into LGBT rights campaign groups across the country. I told her that talking about that shit got me all hot and bothered and then she asked me to pretend to be her hot professor. Sounds cheesy, doesn’t it, but holy fuck. I thoroughly enjoyed bending her over her desk and spanking her before tying her to the chair and eating her out so slowly that she was literally screaming by the end. 

I told Dan about her at the weekend. He wanted to meet up for a coffee to tell me he’d received a promotion and when he asked if I had any more news apart from being a ‘gallery superstar’ (yes, I eye rolled SO HARD but he’s trying, I guess) I let it slip. He was understandably shocked but pleased for me and I don’t want to admit it, but I was thrilled to have his approval. As much as we’re different, I do fucking adore him, even when he wears those terrible grey suits. So ill fitting, yuck. 

Anyway, I’ve only just come back from Nadia’s. We spent the day in bed, eating, reading and fucking. Pretty damn perfect, not going to lie. And I’m (currently, at least) not itching to flee as soon as we’re done having sex. That’s new. I’m infamous for sending women on their way almost as soon as we’ve both come. I hope Nadia knows how special it makes her to have avoided that kind of treatment thus far! 

I have a drawing I want to start tomorrow. Jen brought me some samples from work and a few old sketchbooks she’d found in the office that no one claimed. I’m not quite sure what’s going to manifest just yet but I feel like there’s something within me all too ready to come out.

I got some extra strong sativa recently so maybe my woman will show me the way. Nadia’s kept me preoccupied but I never forget about Her…

KZ :-)

-

Katya only allowed Trixie to get up to draw the curtains. Even that seemed redundant as it was dark and there was no chance of anyone getting too much of an eyeful, she argued, but Trixie insisted, liked her room a particular way and wasn’t about to change for anybody. Katya laughed at her dramatics but gladly watched her round the bed to lean over, naked and sweating, and pull her pink drapes across the window. She was very much aware of how damp the gusset of her underwear was but the loss of contact, though momentary, helped her calm down a little and regain her attention to what she wanted to unfold next.

Since first entering Trixie’s bedroom, Katya had been drawn to the giant mirrors upon her wardrobe. The allure of watching herself fuck Trixie went beyond the erotic, to the evidential and factual. It was a way for her to see it reflected back to her, to eliminate any last chance of illusion, of a make-believe dalliance, and watch exactly how her touches impacted her body and how her grip left irrefutable imprints on Trixie’s tangible form both in person and in the glass. A double proof. 

Katya knelt up, facing the mirrors and allowed herself to rub herself over her heel just once. “Come here, kneel in front of me.” Trixie’s brow raised but she didn’t protest and when she went to face her, Katya stopped her with the outstretch of her hand. “No, with your back to me.” Trixie subsequently caught on, lowering herself so she sat on Katya’s thighs, knees apart.

Trixie caught Katya’s eye in the mirror. “Take your bra off, I want to feel you against me.”

Katya reached behind herself to unhook the clasp and pull the material away from her feverish body, felt a fleeting chill as she exposed herself in the paltry space between them before Trixie complained. Katya slowly eased herself forward, curving her spine so her chest brushed Trixie’s back, her nipples hardening with every shift against her. Trixie looked so fucking satisfied and Katya knew she hadn’t even properly given her what she wanted just yet, hadn’t even decided if she was going to at all, but that little bit of skin on skin was enough to please her for now and she couldn’t help but smile at the Trixie staring back at her.

Katya wrapped her arms around Trixie’s middle, giving her an impulsive squeeze, and kissed her in between her shoulder blades. The broad plains of her back, sturdy and strong, contrasted the delicateness of her waist. She had such a sexy, hourglass figure, Katya thought as she brought her hands around her ribcage, up to her breasts to cup them and feel their weight. 

“You’re gonna get me wet all over again.” Trixie sighed.

Katya kissed where her shoulder met her neck. “That’s the idea, Einstein.” 

Trixie huffed a laugh. “You fuckin’ bitch.” 

Katya nosed behind her ear and hummed in response. She sucked Trixie’s lobe into her mouth, flicking her tongue into her ear whilst trying her best to keep her gaze fixed on their reflection. They looked so fucking hot together. A moan escaped her lips.

Trixie’s hands came to meet Katya’s, urging her to be rougher, to grab her harder, play with her nipples. Trixie began to rock back and forth, subtly so to start, as if she was waiting for permission or for Katya’s hips to guide her, set the pace. Katya let her try and find some friction on her own as she focussed on exploring as much of Trixie’s upper body as she physically could, her hands roaming of their own accord, gripping at her as if tethering her to the present moment. 

Pushing her hand up the expanse of Trixie’s throat, Katya wrapped her fingers underneath her jaw and applied pressure, not anywhere near enough to cause Trixie discomfort but so she could feel the throb of her jugular vein and fix her in place. In the mirror, Trixie’s eyes glazed over and Katya wondered if she had unlocked something within her, something indicating that she wanted to be held in such a vulnerable position knowing that no harm would come from it, only pleasure. Katya tapped two fingers against Trixie’s lips. She parted them and sucked all the way down to her knuckles, swirling her tongue around and in between to ensure she properly coated Katya’s fingers with her spit. 

Katya murmured into her ear. “You’re beyond obscene, you know that right? It’s a wonder I haven’t come just from watching you like this.” 

With Katya’s fingers still in her mouth, all Trixie could do was moan around them, her eyes rolling back into her head. Katya withdrew them, watching Trixie track where she then placed her hand, over the mound of her cunt. She parted Trixie’s labia with her slick fingers, running them up and down her, feeling her clench and push for more. Katya rubbed lazily, making small circles every now and then below her clit, not touching her there directly so the build up was more rewarding. 

Just as Trixie settled into a rhythm, Katya took her fingers away and slid them back into Trixie’s mouth, making her taste herself. “Fuck.” Trixie tried to sound out. “Kat—”

“Shh.” Katya cut her off. “You need to understand how fucking perfect you taste.” 

Trixie dutifully sucked once more, dragging her front teeth down Katya’s fingertips, her skin wrinkling from how soaked they were. When she finally touched Trixie’s cunt again, the heat and wetness and scent drove her to distraction. She could no longer look at the both of them, entwined and writhing, in the mirror. She had to close her eyes. Seeing Trixie snap her hips so her thighs jiggled and her boobs bounced was just...too much. 

Katya began to press her pelvis against Trixie’s sacrum then pull back, trying not to think about how, if she was completely naked, her pubic hair would brush against her and how much closer they would be. Katya’s fingers rubbed Trixie’s clit, faster and faster. She changed her directions and patterns as often as she could remember to, her mind unravelling as Trixie began to screech whenever they coordinated their movements, precisely aligning. 

Katya couldn’t miss capturing Trixie coming for the second time, boring into Katya’s eyes in wonder. Katya caught sight of her own ecstasy plastered across her face and it was enough to finally convince her that, no matter what version of Trixie she had encountered before, the one in her arms, shuddering and riding out the very last of her orgasm, was so very real and so much more than Katya could ever have constructed from the apex of her drug addled imagination. 

-

5th January 2008

It’s typical isn’t it? How, when one aspect of my life continues to progress and advance and incline to heights I wouldn’t ever have anticipated for myself, another crashes so low and violently that I don’t quite know how to recover from the impact. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that I’ve been worse before, that my body, though it feels broken and sprawled and barely able to contain the matters of the foolish heart and the delusional mind, isn’t completely obliterated quite yet. I’ve not touched a knife or another weapon of self hatred, I’ve not unleashed myself upon myself. Maybe I will, soon enough. Maybe I won’t. 

I’m in New York in preparation for my opening at the New Museum. I’ve been put up in a nice hotel which I hoped Nadia and I could have enjoyed, making use of all the facilities like the spa and the rooftop bar. She’s not returning my calls. It’s like I don’t exist to her. I get it, I do. I might as well not because the person she thought she was with wasn’t actually real. It was an act to tie her to me, to keep her from discovering she had made a grave mistake and that she deserved better than to be fooled into something so flimsy and false. 

I’m quite impressed I kept up the pretense for almost a year. 

Admittedly, if I didn’t have my art to obsess and worry over, I would have probably lost the plot by now. It’s only been a couple of days but thoughts of colour choices and whether I should have erased that pencil mark and how am I going to speak to the museum staff without anyone with me to keep me in check or nudge me when I’m doing too much to convey normality is clamouring for precedence and actually kind of winning. Is this what other people mean, when they say they’re throwing themselves into their work in times of trouble or distress? I never understood it. Surely I still don’t because there are fundamental things about human beings I just cannot connect with and such isolation barrs me from relatability, from assimilation. 

There’s a dinner tonight, hosted by some sort of guild that aids upcoming artists, functions as a facade of a support network but is really just a bit of a circle jerk. I sound bitter but it is what it is. I’m due to attend as they’ve worked their magic for me and it would be stupid of me not to, I know this, I FUCKING KNOW THIS, but the reality is that I will need to get extraordinarily high to even start thinking about going, never mind actually stepping foot in the damn restaurant and sitting amongst them all. 

I bought a whole Gucci ensemble last week in preparation. Jen had sent me her pictures from the catwalks last season and there was this one look that I couldn’t get out of my head, especially when I happened upon it again in Vogue. Lily Donaldson was strutting down the runway, so sternly, with one arm swinging back and forth as she held a large grey bag with her other hand in an iron grip. I don’t much care for her, I think she’s very bland, but that singular shot got my heart racing. And like a fool to the whims of bourgeois capitalism, I went straight to the Gucci store and practically demanded the poor assistant get me every part of that outfit, minus the bag. 

So here I am - one girlfriend less but one prospect more - staring at the shirt and cravat, the ridiculously oversized burgundy jumper, the grey trousers and black leather knee high, high heeled boots. The belt with that typical Gucci stripe. The giant brooch I will no doubt feel ashamed of wearing later. Trying to dress like a person worthy of any of this, capable of being legitimate, substantial. 

(I need to go and I will, I will, I WILL. And I’ll be fine. And if I take some shit, I won’t be the only one on something and I won’t call Nadia and I’ll recover and be alright and stop pretending that I can be intimate with someone like that again, and I will not think about how I never painted her, kept painting Her instead, and I will not succumb to the anxiety attacks over the reality of showing my first proper portrait of Her so fucking imminently DEAR GOD GET A GRIP KATYA.)

KZ :-(

-

They lay facing one another, sharing the same pillow. Trixie had understandably needed some time to recover and Katya did too. 

“I knew you were a dirty whore.” Trixie joked, lethargically lifting her hand to cup Katya’s cheek. “Though I have a feeling there’s a lot more where that came from.”

Katya winked, purposefully over the top. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” Trixie had her leg hooked over Katya’s, keeping their stomachs close together, their bodies intertwined like she was reminding her their night wasn’t over. 

“Well, your exes were all lucky ladies, then.” Trixie glanced down, avoiding Katya’s potential scrutiny. Katya knew what she was doing. She wondered if Trixie was usually this way, if she always tried to slip certain things into conversation via innocuous comments that could be ignored or could take an interaction further, to deeper territory. Or was there something about Katya that frustrated her to the point where she felt the need to tap away instead of bulldoze through? 

Little did Trixie know what difficult a position it put Katya in. It wasn’t as if she could say, airily, breezily, “Actually, I’ve destroyed every single relationship I’ve been in beyond repair! There’s not a cat in hell’s chance that any of those poor women would regard even one part of our time together positively! I’m a monster! Good luck, toots!” 

All Katya could reasonably do was wiggle her eyebrows and give her one hell of a kiss to shut her up and divert her attention. It was a tried and tested mechanism and it worked in her favour right then as Trixie exhaled, her breath caressing Katya’s cheek. Katya flicked the tip of her tongue to wet Trixie’s top lip before sliding it side to side - another brief mimic of what she had enacted on Trixie’s cunt, reminding her of what their evening together was really about. 

“Can you finally get naked for me?” Trixie murmured into their next kiss.

Katya sat up and smiled. “Your wish is my command.” She cocked her head in thought, squinting slightly, causing Trixie to prompt her. “Pay close attention. Sit how you did before.” Katya instructed. “I want to make sure you get the best view in the house.” 

Trixie did as she was told. Katya came to stand in front of her. Trixie reached out but Katya denied her. “You can look but you can’t touch. Not yet anyway.”

She pouted (actually pouted) and Katya felt herself get even wetter because of her bratty tendencies, the audacity she had. Placing her hands down on her lap, Trixie gingerly settled into a kneeling position. Katya stood tall, her hands on her narrow hips. She straightened her spine and jutted out her chin and peered down her nose at Trixie, who gaped back at her in awe. 

She brought her hands up her body to grab her breasts. Her forceful hold on herself caused the veins in her forearms to strain, her muscles to appear more prominent and defined than usual and she got another shiver from how Trixie seemed to hone in on her especially toned parts. She had to make sure she thanked Jason for his work with her the next time she saw him. For now, however, she dipped her hands under the waistband of her underwear and slowly, ever so slowly, dragged her briefs down until they slid to the floor. She kicked them away, tracking where they landed, then returned her gaze to Trixie. 

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , how come every part of you is so perfect?” Trixie shook her head in disbelief and Katya couldn’t help but laugh into her own shoulder.

“Says you, Maria!” 

Trixie rolled her eyes affectionately. “We’re both total hotties, ok? I think we proved that just now with the whole mirror thing...And I want more of something like that. Please let me touch you, I’m dying over here.” 

“So much talk of death, you necro hoe.” Katya joked before coming right up close to Trixie so her face was level with her stomach. Trixie looked up at her, her eyes wide and wonderful and Katya nodded, so minutely for fear that if she moved too much she would be spirited away. Trixie placed an open mouthed kiss just below her belly button and brought her hands, large and possessive, around to her lower back to pull her in furthermore. Katya allowed herself to slip under, to relinquish the control she upheld all day every day to ensure she didn’t lose it completely. 

Trixie’s kisses dotted her skin. Her mouth travelled down and down until she kissed the top of where Katya’s pubic hair began, short and neat but less groomed than in the past, now she was more comfortable with all aspects of herself. Trixie began kneading her ass, pulling her cheeks apart from the desperate grasps. Katya hummed and brought her hands up to play with Trixie’s hair, smoothing it gently. 

“What can _I_ do for _you_ now?” Trixie asked, hovering her mouth over a wet patch of Katya’s skin and blowing on it. 

Katya knelt down on the bed, her knees once more either side of Trixie, and pushed her onto her back so she had to look up at her. “Kiss me until I come.” She whispered against Trixie’s lips, staring at her until she properly lowered her head and took Trixie’s mouth, all the while guiding Trixie’s hand in between her legs to feel how wet she was. It wouldn’t take long. All Katya wanted was Trixie’s kiss and her fingers slipping and sliding against her cunt. 

Trixie picked up on her intention instantly. She let Katya practically attack her mouth, licking at her face in that unrelenting way some women had found too intimidating or rough during previous encounters. But Trixie only opened her mouth wider, rose up to get her tongue deeper into Katya’s mouth too. She kept her hand down to cup Katya’s cunt and Katya automatically rolled her hips to heighten the contact. 

When Trixie parted Katya’s labia and rubbed with a finger each side of her clit, Katya moaned, so loudly she shocked herself, the jolt of her body adding an extra burst of pressure against Trixie’s touch. She exhaled heavily into Trixie’s mouth and then bit down on her bottom lip, pulling on it as she moved herself backwards a little, only to shove her hips forward again, settling into a rhythm she determined even when she felt like she was spinning out into an abyss. It was so natural, an act of unthinking.

“Faster.” She gasped and Trixie didn’t hesitate to comply, crooking her fingers just a fraction, just enough to drive Katya crazy, to mewl, all high-pitched and desperate and enamoured. Katya didn’t look down between them. She knew Trixie’s fingers would be glistening, that the insides of her thighs would be slick. The tops of them ached, her abs pulled taut. She didn’t want to climax so quickly but how could she deny herself? Deny Trixie? 

Trixie changed up her patterns, rubbing in circles, starting off wider then focusing more and more on Katya’s clit, on moving quicker and bringing her right over the edge. Katya could barely kiss Trixie anymore. She scrunched her eyes closed, relished in the shouts caught in her restricted throat, the veins in her hands bulging and the sweat down her back as hot as her very core. 

She came with a deafening moan, collapsing forward. 

Wrapping her arms around Katya’s back to bring her down to lie on top of her, to rest her head on her chest, Trixie caught her. Katya was too blissed out to worry about having fallen.

-

25th June 2009

I’m going to London for a month tomorrow. My exhibition at Victoria Miro Gallery opens in a couple of weeks so Avi and I are due Friday onwards at the space to get everything prepared. 

This is my life now? 

I’ve spent the past few days fighting off the urge to waste all my payment on drugs, instead pissing a good chunk of it away on new clothes (it’d be rude though, wouldn’t it, to show up in England not dressed head to toe in Westwood?). If I hadn’t signed a contract on exactly what pieces I would be featuring then I’d also be scrambling, right about now, to replace my portrait of Her with something - anything - else. Because I know it’ll be a triumph. Not only do I sense it, but I’ve happened to create something precisely on trend, topical without meaning to be, which is only the more perfect for critics. 

I knew that last hit had been a mistake, that night. That meant I’d seen her with her golden hair almost reaching the floor, with an across-the-forehead headband and a heavenly light to which she faced up to. She was a goddess to me and it was so ancient and holy. She should have had a lyre in her arms, should have been swathed in luxurious materials and had worshippers at her feet. Instead, she holds the head of Josef Fritzl, blood dripping onto her dress. That case had been keeping me up for weeks on end. I had barely slept. I just kept taking whatever I could to stay awake and research as much as humanly possible and then I felt such hatred and sickness within me, the kind only she could soothe. It’s so fucking awful and strange but it was like she knew what it was like, to have been a daughter to a person like that. It all still haunts me. 

Anyway, I am over the fucking moon to be able to visit London again. I loved it when I went with Caroline and I’m so glad I get the chance to explore and have MY ART IN A GALLERY THERE. Pinch me. I’m dreaming. Surely? SURELY?

KZ :-D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck this entire week and this virus. I'm ok but I'm still having to go into work and potentially could be next week and intermittently beyond too. Our gov is THE WORST. Anxiety and depression is peaking right about now and I haven't done any writing or exercise this week which is Not Good For Me. This weekend will be the first time I can actually take part in social distancing, if only for two days, and tbh I can't wait. Will hopefully be able to bang out a couple of chapters to get back on schedule. I hope everyone reading is safe and well, and I hope this chapter can bring some reprieve from the total shite rn. Much love xx

The restaurant Violet had booked was so typically _Violet_ , Katya smirked to herself as soon as she entered. Its dark carpet and golden walls screamed luxury whilst the flowers climbing up in between some of the windows and the netted lights which dipped from the ceiling screamed Instagram. Either way, despite the clash between the two decor styles, Katya didn’t have much time to take in the rest of the place as a piercing screech - followed by a much less animated “oh my god” - grabbed her attention. Her head snapped to the right and there she was; Miss Fame in the (meticulously made up) flesh.

She’d had a bit of work done since the last time Katya had seen her but it wasn’t to her detriment at all. Katya had spotted far too many botched jobs, fish lips and too-taut faces all over Hollywood and beyond but whoever had worked on Fame had actually done a damn good job. It wasn’t like she’d needed any of it, of course, but given her line of work and the demands placed upon her on top of a relentless schedule, Katya didn’t blame her. She had always chased a certain aesthetic and sense of glamour. Being represented by Wilhelmina Models, she had undoubtedly achieved her goals. 

Fame stood as Katya neared their table, her prominent collar bones on display emphasised by the low boat neck of her patterned Vivienne Westwood dress, its uneven hem accentuating her crazy latex heeled boots. They went well up above her mid-thigh.

“Those are fucking _unreal_ , I _love_ them.” Katya exclaimed as she went up to her and hugged her, none of the silly cheek kissing she knew Fame was tired of from fashion week and innumerable shoots. Fame’s perfectly coiffed, yellow hair brushed against her face and her perfume surrounded Katya like a familiar embrace. It was so good to see her. 

“You know I can hook you up.” Fame winked. 

Violet remained unmoving, her chin rested on her clasped hands, elegant as ever. The three of them sat around a pristine, white clothed table, a waiter hovering like he was listening out for the right time to talk them through the menu. With Fame, there was fat chance of getting a word in edgeways. 

“God, Katya, you would have loved it.” She enthused a little while later, once they’d decided on sharing the chef’s tasting menu and Katya had suffered through a few bites of caviar to start. Repulsive stuff. “It was all that fallen angel kind of look, you know, whimsical but a bit intentionally rough around the edges, big, smoked out eyes, lots of material to both drown out the body and create an exaggerated silhouette. It’s due in next month's publication so you better get yourself a copy.”

Katya rolled her eyes, smiling. “You know I don’t buy any magazines anymore but I guess, for you, I’ll have to make an exception.”

“Thank you. It means a lot, it does. I know it’s all still a difficult topic and a difficult scene for you to re-immerse yourself in but I appreciate your support.” 

“Ugh, here she goes.” Violent interrupted with put upon derision. She took a sip of champagne before launching forth herself. “Pearl’s finally landed a job with Vogue in a couple of months. You know what they’re like there with booking ahead. Apparently, she’d been waiting for confirmation since November. November!”

“Jesus that would shoot my nerves to shit.” Katya said before her mind caught up with her. Then it crashed to a halt. _Pearl_. “Hold on, hold on, hold on.” She leaned towards Violet so her face was almost too close for comfort, and she grabbed her forearm in a vice-like grip. “The person you’ve been humping on all these weeks is _Pearl_?”

Violet scrunched her brows together, retracted so there was at least some breathing space between them. “You know Pearl?”

Katya explained. Fame must have been enraptured enough by the revelation as she only supplied a few comments here and there. Violet, though she admitted she had been a bit coy about this new relationship, expressed her confusion, thinking she must have mentioned her name before now. “No!” Katya shrieked, earning a few funny looks from the diners around them. What was it, she wondered - a little panicked, a little shook up - that made it seem as if hers and Trixie’s worlds were more and more inextricably linked?

“Sounds like fate,” Fame commented, innocent and praising, once Katya had hashed out the details with Violet and told them both about Kim. “Like you were destined to meet at this exact time, in this exact place. So romantic!”

Katya couldn’t stop thinking about it, even when they’d moved on to other conversations and when their main courses arrived, plates of cod and vermillion rockfish and wagyu beef crowding the table. Violet gushed over the presentation and Fame snapped photos for Instagram. Despite how she posed with Violet for Fame’s stories, positioning her body, not as waifish as her friends’, so she didn’t take up as much of the frame, her trail of thoughts were difficult to contain.

“Have you been drawing or painting since you got here?” Fame asked once their plates were clean and their waiter had swooped in to take them away. 

“Not really, just a few rough sketches if I felt like it.” Katya admitted but didn’t elaborate. Fame didn’t need to know she’d drawn Trixie again, especially now that she had her in real life to study in even more detail. 

Katya had depended on Violet’s self absorption and the fact that, when they had met, she was very young and very caught up in her new life, for her to put together the bizarre and distorted fragments. Having Fame discuss her art and her whatever-it-was with Trixie was only just beginning to sink in. Because there was a very high chance that what had escaped Violet wouldn’t go over Fame’s head in quite the same way, down the line. 

“I know your LA life is still fresh and you won’t want to think about that kind of thing yet, and please don’t think I’m pressuring you or setting expectations, but I think it would be wonderful if you put something on, here, or did something in fashion again, even if it’s just for fun.”

“Fame.” Violet warned, jaw tight.

She wittered on anyway. “I’d always be happy to spread the word or collaborate or do whatever you need. There are people in New York who still remember you, and I’d like you to remember that as a good thing.”

“Fame!” Violet raised her voice, making her, and Katya, jump from the surprise of it. She visibly regulated herself once she caught their reactions, smoothing a hand over her hair to regain composure, her regular statuesque nature. 

Katya took a deep breath. “To tell you the truth,” She began, straightening her spine but fiddling with her stack of studded cuffs and leather wrap around bracelets in order to avoid eye contact, “I’ve been doing what seems like a lot of new—well, not new, new-ish kinds of things recently, or things that might have delipidated me before coming here. I’m not saying I’ve properly started thinking about what I’ll venture into but I, uh, it’s not completely off the cards, let’s say. But don’t hold me to anything, ok? And don’t get all excited like I can sense you doing, you fucking supportive bitch.”

In a rush a few days previously, Katya had ordered a multicoloured Ashish midi dress to wear that night. In the moment, she was so fucking glad she’d gotten it, its round mirror sequins a welcome distraction from the brevity of what she had said aloud for the first time. She knew her jumpiness and fidgeting gave away her nervousness but she also knew that she was in perfectly safe hands, that such emotions on display would be well received and cared for. 

Fame’s face lit up way more than her highlighter could achieve and Violet’s mouth hung open and Katya couldn’t stop the cackle from leaving her mouth. She couldn’t tell if it sounded manic but she felt a bit lighter, like she had admitted a giant secret and the responsibility of it had been a weight she didn’t need on her already strained shoulders. 

“Oh, that’s just _fantastic_ , Katya.” Fame placed her manicured hand gently upon Katya’s, steadying her, showing her she was there. “I’ll keep my runaway mouth shut, I promise, but if you do decide on anything, you’ve got to let me and Vi know first. Trixie sounds positively delightful but…” She trailed off with a smirk.

Katya understood completely. “Hey, hoes before hoes, I know the fuckin’ rule.” 

The three of them spent the rest of the evening watching beautiful women prance around in incredible sequined costumes and feather boas or fans, chatting away at every possible opportunity and laughing together like they hadn’t all met in the most soulless, unforgiving business on the planet. Sometimes Katya resented how she would always be tied to fashion, not slave to it but captured by its possibility. If nothing else, she was grateful to have been introduced to the two drop dead gorgeous babes beside her. 

Perhaps, with their support, dipping her toes back in the shimmering waters of the art and fashion worlds wouldn’t be so asphyxiating. 

-

4th October 2010

The Deconstructed Bride was put up in the MOMA this weekend. I’ve had requests, multiple and unrelenting, to create more works like that. I envy everyone’s naivety when making their inquiries, wonder what it’s like to not see her like I do, not be both blessed and plagued by her presence in life beyond the canvas, the still and untouched. I’ve watched people survey her, spent far too long hiding in plain sight to observe what reactions she brings out, if she is enjoyed because she is destroyed or because she is still beautiful despite such violence and ruin.

I think she represents what we, as a patriarchal society, are used to viewing. The woman, the commodity, forced through life to withstand all kinds of pain and devastation and the bitter facts of existence as a subordinated being - lesser, weaker, more vapid, whatever crap men have determined for their opposite. The beauty, nonetheless, a standard to uphold and compare against no matter the circumstances. 

It is what’s most cruel, out of it all. Ultimately, men can put women through every imaginable dire situation, can rape and torture and gaslight and blame and undermine and talk over and discredit and yet walk free (both literally and metaphorically) and have the sheer cheek to criticise if she doesn’t smile through it or wear a full face of flawless makeup and nice clothes, if she doesn’t shave or wax, even if she forgets because, well, her trauma takes up her entire mental capacity. 

A woman is held captive then chastised for not thanking her captor. She is burned at the stake and her tongue is ripped out for screaming. She is kicked down and expected to lick the boot that keeps her below. If she’s lucky, a woman can be heralded as a beautiful thing, put upon a pedestal because men want to push her off a great height and hear the crack of bones.

Anyway…

I’m too afraid of not supplying when demand can be so fleeting, impermanent. It’s too possible for comfort that no one will care about my work in a year’s time. I can’t pretend I don’t revel in the congratulation. Admiration is flattery is medicine is what aids me, at the end of the day, when I forget my purpose or believe I am too useless to navigate surviving this world like I wasn’t made to be here. 

I’ve decided to put my feelers out, so to speak, to find out just how desired such a show would be. Then, if there is genuine interest, I can get to work without feeling like I’m punishing her, acting out upon her form and causing unrest to her (in myself) without need or justified ambition.

When I see her, all I do is worship her, place my fate in her unfeeling hands and chase her healing. Then the derangement sets in and I see red, I turn to anger, abuse the self by abusing her image. 

(Sometimes I still think about killing myself. I don’t think those thoughts will ever properly dissipate. And we all know drugs aren’t the answer, they’re more proven the catalyst, but it doesn’t deter me and I often wonder what the hell will.)

KZ :-S

-

That first night Katya had spent with Trixie was utterly wonderful and she had thought about it all day every day until the next time she saw her, which was well over a week later, after she had met up with Fame and Violet. 

The morning after had much left to be desired, in all honesty, as Trixie’s alarm blared at half six and Katya hurriedly traipsed after her, still bleary eyed and partially asleep, to kiss her goodbye at her car door, sending her off to another long day at work. She had then got an Uber home, changed into her yoga gear and gone to a class to try and stave off the hollowness, the longing. It worked for the duration of her time at the studio and her walk back to her place, but began to wear off as she stepped into the shower and couldn’t fight the thought of how nice it would have been to have had Trixie there with her. 

And then thinking of Trixie being beside her evolved into leaning back against the cool tiles, feeling the water splash against her body and closing her eyes to really picture it. She imagined, now she had been able to discover the odd freckles here and there and the general obscurities that living, breathing bodies exhibited, Trixie’s presence, more real now Katya could fill in the blanks she hadn’t ever known were missing. She could almost feel her against her, how she would caress her stomach, how she would get on her knees and rub Katya’s calves, her aching thigh muscles, her cunt, dripping wet for her. 

Katya’s own fingers did their best to make up for what she was lacking. She came with a silent shout then washed herself off and got on with the rest of her day. As much as she could attempt to. She was trying, always trying.

Amongst her training sessions with Jason (“Oh, girl, I am so, so pleased for you! Go get that hot, younger pussy, you cougar!”), her lessons with Kim (“Bitch won’t shut up about you. I know too much about what your tongue can do, and I’m not talking about the Japanese passive tense.”) and seeing Fame for the last time to do some vintage shopping before she returned to New York, Katya contacted an interior designer and arranged for a consultation. Jason put her in touch with Bobby, who came round and listened to what Katya envisioned, told her what didn’t make sense and what would be better instead.

So, it was scheduled that, at the start of summer, work would begin to convert her garages into her studio space. Although she had originally thought her living area best to be altered up, Bobby suggested removing all the garage doors and replacing them with switchable smart glass floor to ceiling windows. That way, when she was working she could have as much natural light as physically possible and when she needed more privacy or was done for the day, she could adjust the opacity. Despite the space facing the street, she concluded it was the best option for what she wanted. Giving her neighbours the treat of witnessing a once somewhat-famous artist in the throes of creation was a bonus, for sure. 

Trixie finally had the second Sunday of June off. Katya invited her to stay once she had finished her wedding gig on the Saturday and Trixie insisted that she bring groceries to make a proper home cooked meal. They texted back and forth during the week leading up to their date (Katya assumed that’s what people these days would call it), as regularly as Trixie’s schedule would allow and Katya smiled to herself every time she was sent a potential recipe option to choose from or when Trixie randomly messaged her a string of pink heart emojis just because. 

Katya felt the flutters of excitement and anxiousness in her stomach all day Saturday. She worked out and Jason’s general positivity helped her to focus more on the anticipation rather than the worry that Trixie would somehow come across something incriminating whilst staying over, despite the fact that they would definitely not be going into the garages and that Katya had tidied and cleaned a lot more thoroughly than usual in preparation. 

Considering Trixie was still working most of the time, Katya thought it a good idea to continue their theme of pamper evenings by buying face masks for the both of them and a couple of bath bombs from Lush to use if Trixie approved of them sharing a bath - which, going by how Trixie reacted to Katya undressing last time, would very likely not be unwelcome. The thought of cuddling up with Trixie on the sofa in robes, their faces soaking with whatever the fuck trendy ingredient was in the Chantecaille tub she picked up on Fame’s recommendation, was too lovely not to act upon. 

Katya tried to dress casual for the occasion. She put on a simple black crop top and a pair of wide leg, silk crepe de chine trousers. The light material floated and shifted so satisfyingly when she walked anywhere, even just to cross from one side of a room to the other, and the busy print upon the base of red flattered her gradually tanning skin tone. Now the temperatures were into the eighties, Katya had been aiming to spend as much time outside, relishing in proper fresh air and the smell of summertime. That Saturday, all she wanted was to stay close to Trixie, away from everything else, wrapped up in her warmth. 

-

30th November 2010 

The guilt is wearing me down. It’s a growing lead ball in the pit of my stomach and it’s a double edged sword. I know what I’m doing is some of my best work. I know, once I’m finally able, that explaining my process and what emotional tolls it took will only endear the finished products to people further. But I’m hurting her. And it’s so very hard to keep doing it when I see the pain in her eyes, when I flick a brush in order to eradicate her shoulder or her nose, when I throw something to dent the canvas or I get one of my knives…

I recognise how insane it makes me sound. And it’s the first time I’m going to have to navigate how to verbalise my intentions and write my blurb whilst being as honest as possible whilst not exposing just how vulnerable and troubled and messed up I am. I’m lucky that I’ve chosen an outlet used to twisted minds - tortured geniuses! It’s just...I’m not that big of a name, I’ve not made much impression to perhaps get away with that kind of persona. And I’m worried what it would enable if I did get away with it all - the hallucinations, the comedowns, the not speaking to my family for months, the drinking until I pass out to catch up on the sleep I’m not getting when I’m so wired, playing with my blades and cutting down the one true idol I’ve been graced with for so much of my life. She’s my muse and my companion and the single constant. How can I do this to her?

I feel like a man. Just taking and taking and enforcing domination through violence. It’s disgusting. But there’s an undeniable thrill too. Repugnant. 

I have to get everything finished by the end of January, ready for opening at the beginning of March. I can’t believe how quickly I’ve had to scramble, still can’t believe The fucking Whitney want me. There are articles being written about my work in magazines and there’s going to be a paragraph about my upcoming show in New York Magazine, plus a feature on the Time Out New York website. If I do manage to sleep, I wake up at least twice a week in the middle of the night in a blind panic, thinking everyone’s going to find out I’m a fraud, just a crazy person with no real talent, just a very clear vision brought about from very clear psychosis. 

I spend so much time in New York at the moment. Everything seems to be happening for me there. Jen asked if I was going to move there last time we Skyped. It’s looking to be the most sensible option. At least the vintage and thrift stores there are much better than here in good ol’ Boston. Even if I feel intimidated by such a city, by what’s going to potentially happen for me there, there’s always that. There are more yoga studios, I know people there, there are great restaurants and bars and clubs and there’s always something new popping up - I will surely love it. I’ve just got to not get sentimental. 

LOL story of my life. 

KZ :-/

-

Trixie’s stupid tiny car pulled up just after eight and Katya sneakily watched her out the window as she clambered out of her seat, went round to get all her things from the trunk and lugged it all in one arm, holding her keys in her other hand to lock up. She was wearing pink converse high tops and a pink gingham body tucked into some white cropped jeans, its cups underwired and drawn together with a decorative bow, accentuating her tits. Katya’s heart skipped a beat and she stirred, comically excited, as she watched Trixie’s boobs bounce whenever she took a step. Jesus, Katya thought, if she’d been to work like that, how did anyone around her get anything done? She looked so fucking incredible.

Katya quickly checked her space buns in the mirror and that her mascara, the only makeup she was wearing, hadn’t run or smudged. Then she rushed to the door and greeted Trixie, not kissing or hugging her like she wanted to but taking all her belongings from her and setting them carefully on the kitchen counter. “Come and sit down.” She shouted through to her. “Put your feet up for a sec, hmm?” 

She heard Trixie huff a laugh and busied herself with lifting out the groceries to try and not focus on her steps coming nearer, her wooden floor seeming to amplify her movements. She hadn’t taken her shoes off yet and normally that would bother Katya because she hated cleaning, so having gone to the effort only for someone to potentially dirty it all up again frustrated her to no end. But she couldn’t care less, right then. 

“I’m tired but I’ve not lost the use of my legs just yet, Linda.” Katya watched as Trixie came around the counter and up behind her. She closed her eyes as Trixie’s body pressed up against her back, her arms circled her stomach to bring them flush against each other. Trixie’s breath upon her neck sent shivers down her spine.

“Just wait til you’re my age.” Katya managed to say. She placed her hands over Trixie’s, slotting their fingers together in a tight grip. “Then you’ll just be a body on wheels and I’ll have to roll you around the place.” 

Trixie laughed into her hair. “Shut up, you freak.” She planted one, firm kiss to the bare skin of her nape. Katya would have melted into a puddle on the floor if she didn’t have the unignorable urge to spin them both around and push Trixie up against the counter. So that’s exactly what she did, surprising Trixie enough for her to make an adorable ‘oof’ sound when she made contact with the granite. 

Katya looked up at her, went through her routine of checking out her makeup, of noting the slight changes to her face that a tough day or a bad night’s sleep brought about. 

“Hello.” Trixie said, loud and abrupt and unexpectedly harsh and Katya wheeze laughed at how she had inadvertently changed the trajectory of their close moment together. 

“Can you not greet people, like, nice and warmly - personably?” Katya asked, eyebrows raised to jokingly mock her. She jiggled her about where she had a hold on her and Trixie ducked her chin as she laughed.

“No, maybe I should work on that, not scare people off.”

“I think it’s impossible to scare me off.” Katya smiled, edging her lips nearer and nearer to Trixie’s.

“You are pretty unspookable.” Trixie muttered so Katya laughed into their kiss. Katya leaned more into Trixie’s body to fix her in place, tilting her head to the side slightly to get the perfect angle as she licked into Trixie’s mouth. Wrapping her arms around Trixie’s shoulders, she raised up onto her tiptoes to bring herself closer to Trixie’s height. Trixie’s hands found their way to Katya’s ass and squeezed, not hard, not taking them anywhere beyond their kiss, but it pleased Katya nonetheless. This is what they did now.

They were eventually able to separate themselves and Katya set everything out whilst Trixie took her shoes off and went to the bathroom. Katya sneakily checked her phone while Trixie was gone to find messages from Jason, Violet and Kim wishing the both of them a nice evening, plus some dirty comments thrown in for good measure, of course. Katya was a lucky gal.

Trixie made them a vegetable and chickpea tagine stew with cauliflower rice. Knowing Katya was useless in the kitchen by now meant that Trixie gave her the position of her sous chef, ordering her to chop the egg plant and the rest of the vegetables required whilst Trixie did the rest and looked so fucking effortless doing so. 

“How have you survived this long not being able to cook?” Trixie exclaimed as she fried some onions and garlic off with cayenne pepper, chilli flakes, paprika and cumin. 

“It’s a miracle on earth. Jesus could never!” Quipped Katya, flouncing and spinning around so her trousers fluttered and ballooned. 

“I can try and teach you.” Trixie offered with her eyebrows upturned, expression so hopeful.

“I’m a lost cause, believe me.” 

The meal took around forty minutes to cook, which was way too long for Katya to tolerate, so she ended up being told to find something for them to watch as they ate and, having discovered they both loved Clue, Katya decided to show Trixie a movie review on Youtube she liked and thought was funny. 

They sat side by side with Katya’s MacBook in front of them. Katya kept stealing glances at Trixie, watching what joke she laughed at and her reactions to Katya’s favourite parts. They ended up talking over the hosts for the most part, Trixie providing far more hilarious commentary, and, if it wasn’t so delicious, Katya would have probably taken no notice of what she was eating, too enamoured by how Trixie pinched her nose when she or Katya said something crude, how she rested her thigh against hers, how her mouth upturned whenever Katya grabbed onto her arm to stabilise herself whilst cracking up.  
Katya washed the dishes as Trixie went to take her makeup off. She didn’t realise she was continually smiling until her cheeks began to ache. 

By the time Trixie returned, on the strict instruction not to do her skincare routine, Katya had set out a little display of the items she had bought for the night, complete with a bunch of hand picked flowers. She didn’t own a vase (she really was that useless) so she had put them in her largest glass and propped them up against a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Brut she had bought especially for Trixie. Being sober, she also didn’t have any champagne flutes. It didn’t matter, of course, Trixie wouldn’t care, but it just reminded her she was probably distinctly unlike the women Trixie had dated before, and she wrung her hands as Trixie came up to look at everything. 

“Oh my god, you…” Trixie trailed off, shaking her head and launching herself forth to kiss Katya. Not expecting such force, it took a second for her brain to catch up with Trixie’s affection but then she bounced back, humming as Trixie’s tongue slid against hers, as she played with Trixie’s hair and tugged on it to get her to tip her head back a bit more so she could deepen the kiss. 

“Are you usually such a romantic?” Trixie murmured in between them.

“Only with y— I mean, you bring it out of me.” _Shit_ , she almost slipped up. She didn’t give Trixie time to respond, pulling her back in and running her hands all over her back as they made out.

With a flushed face, Trixie popped the cork and poured herself a mug of champagne for the fun of it, taking a picture of it along with Katya’s set up to post to instagram. Her caption read, ‘Being spoiled just a little bit. This is what gay dreams are made of (might as well die tomorrow)!’ Katya cackled when she showed her. 

Neither of them had posted a picture with the other yet but Trixie asked Katya if she could tag her as the mug. “Go on then,” She acquiesced, “I _have_ got the face of a generation.” 

“Yeah, generation X. Old!” 

Katya let Trixie take the lead in applying the face masks, ignored her indignation at how expensive Chantecaille products were and had way too much fun trying to bite the brush applicator as Trixie swooped the mask across her face. The goop (for, in Katya’s opinion, there was no better word to describe it) was cooling and smelled nice and Katya let Trixie lecture her on skin care and why she should do more than occasionally use moisturiser and sunblock. 

In the ten minutes they had to wait until they could take the mask off, Katya asked Trixie about her week, even though they had texted each other every day. Trixie told her stories from work and showed her pictures of the looks she had been doing, which Katya complimented, watching as Trixie’s smile grew and grew. They talked about Kim and what she was currently teaching Katya. 

And then Katya remembered. “Fuck! Pearl!” She shouted, earning her a thoroughly confused look from Trixie, who was in the middle of her sentence. “Sorry, sorry, I just— did you know it was _Violet_ that Pearl’s been dating?” 

“ _What_?” Trixie screeched, apparently as stunned as Katya had been. 

Once they hashed out the details, Trixie mentioned that they had overrun their time by twenty minutes and Katya laughed at how caught up they had been. The unease she had felt around Violet knowing Pearl and vice versa had thankfully shrunk to the kind that could be quashed with a bit of deep breathing and refocusing of her attention. 

The two of them had a childish race to the bathroom to see who would be first to use the sink and, whilst Trixie was easily the more competitive of the two of them, Katya was the more agile. Katya shifted over so Trixie had space in front of the mirror anyway and they pulled faces at each other. Katya tried not to stare too intensely at the droplets of water running down Trixie’s face.

“Do you fancy a bath now?” Katya asked when they had dried off. 

Trixie nodded, taking a hold of each of Katya’s hands and placing them on her hips. Katya’s eyes were drawn to Trixie’s breasts, her deep cleavage. She pressed a gentle kiss to one boob, then the next, then rose up to kiss the underside of Trixie’s jaw and nibble on her earlobe as she wasn’t wearing earrings. 

“Let me take care of things in here. You go get your champagne and there’s a spare robe on my bed if you want it.” Katya said against the expanse of Trixie’s throat. Her lips teasingly grazed her soft skin. She had changed up her perfume and Katya wasn’t sure if she liked it as much as her usual one, but she appreciated how she could log the new scent in her ever expanding treasure chest of parts of the real Trixie. The things her mind had never been capable of manifesting, like the content sigh she let out when Katya sent her off with a searing kiss. God.

Katya lifted her favourite Jo Malone candle out from her cabinet. She couldn’t wait for Trixie to comment on how it was black (like her soul). She lit it and placed it on her counter top, then lit some unscented tea lights around the tub. She ran the water and put in the bath bombs, watching the many colours swirl together and the tiny bubbles in the suds pop and disappear. Then she took off her trousers, folding and rolling them up so the material didn’t spread all across her bathroom floor when she put them down, and turned off the light. 

She wasn’t wearing a bra and the briefs she had on were just plain black Calvin Kleins. She couldn’t be bothered to crack out the sexy underwear again, knowing Trixie would find her hot no matter what she wore and it usually wasn’t comfortable, and it was all a patriarchal, capitalist scam anyway. 

She listened out for Trixie walking down the hallway and tried to stand as natural as possible. The room suddenly appeared large and empty. She looked at herself in the mirror to check she didn’t look like one of the characters from The IT Crowd in the dinner party scene that had her in stitches every time she watched it. When Trixie came in, she was laughing to herself and managed to look more deranged than she did originally. 

“Am I interrupting?” Trixie quipped, a smirk playing on her face.

Katya was about to reply as she turned towards the doorway but was stopped dead in her tracks by the sight of Trixie, stark naked apart from one of the flowers Katya had given her placed behind her ear. She was leaning against the frame like a siren, her blonde, curled hair artfully arranged over one of her shoulders, covering the sunburn she had somehow managed to acquire down only one side of her body. Katya bit her lip to stop herself from making a comment on it. Now wasn’t the time. Not when Trixie’s breasts hung heavy and so inviting, when the curve of her waist was calling out for Katya to wind her arms around and her legs were imprinted where the seam of her jeans had dug in during the day.

“Looking like that, you can interrupt me any time.” 

Trixie flung her head back and scream-laughed. “What a line!” 

“Get your peachy ass over here.” Katya ordered, beckoning her with her index finger.

Trixie sauntered over to her, taking in what Katya had done in her absence. When Trixie was in her arms, she noticed her falter and her breath caught in her throat as Trixie’s hold on her loosened. She stared at the floor instead of at Katya. Katya tried not to admonish herself, not to instantly jump to the worst conclusion, that she had done something wrong, that Trixie would flee.

“What’s up?” Her voice broke.

Trixie snapped her head back up. Instantaneously, she brought her hands to cup Katya’s face, her gaze strong and unwavering. “Nothing, nothing. Believe me, this is...well, this is the nicest anyone’s treated me in a long time. You’re…”

Katya’s heart was hammering. She didn’t want to be rude but she had to prompt Trixie lest she have a fucking stroke. “I’m?”

“Proper girlfriend material. I want— surely you know I want that by now? You. To be my girlfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already watched it, this is the scene from The IT Crowd https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mng516txzYE YOU'RE WELCOME


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this week off work, thank fuck, so I've not left the house even once, kept to my balcony and written 3k words per day. Silver linings in an almighty big shit of a situation. Hope y'all are doing ok and that you enjoy this chapter. This story is now the longest thing I've ever written and I'm rather proud of it! 
> 
> Stay safe :)

15th February 2011 

The loft The Witney has put me up in is fucking GRAND. Not in decoration - it’s all exposed brickwork and minimalism - but the sheer size of it has me in awe. I ‘moved in’ at the weekend and had all my supplies delivered. I’m still renting my little place in Boston as this is just a short lease whilst the exhibition gets going so it wasn’t such a nightmare getting stuff here. I’ll probably end up buying a whole new wardrobe anyway for all the events I’m due to go to. I am decidedly not panicking. Ha. 

Yesterday, I hired an assistant. I’m SHIT at anything organisational and with PR, so from now on a loud, abrasive and totally-on-the-ball Hispanic woman called Bianca will field everything intended for me. The very first thing she said to me once I’d given her the job was, “Please tell me you’ve copyrighted all your art so I don’t have to do that for you as well.” See! ON THE BALL. And a little bit hilarious. 

The loft has a little desk area so I’ve said Bianca can come here to work. The people at The Whitney helped me with a contract for her and also got her to sign an NDA so I think she’s a safe bet. I’m usually a good judge of character. She seems very harsh at first, but you soon realise she just doesn’t hold back and it’s all for the good of the person she’s looking after. Her references were impeccable. 

Bianca is a seamstress. She usually does costumes for Broadway and she’s in between shows right now. Works out damn well for the both of us, I think. She offered her services (and boasted she can make a dress in three minutes which, to be honest, I would pay for just to see her do it) if I needed something one of a kind for whatever the fuck. 

I met up for coffee with Jen this morning. She asked if she could bring people from Betsey Johnson to opening night, and she also knew a few others in the industry that had expressed interest when she had mentioned it. I said why not. I’m at the point at the moment where I’m just saying yes and trying not to worry about it. I’ve cut down on the drink and drugs since being here (used the excuse of not having a proper dealer to help) and have been practicing yoga every day, which enables me to be in the present moment, ground myself in the actuality of now to prevent anxiety over the uncertainty of what might or might not come next. 

It’s crazy to think how long I’ve known Jen, that we’ve finally ended up in the same city again and that we still talk as easily as we did when we saw each other every day and we were both discovering the foundations of our practices as artists. 

I like hearing about her world, how shallow a lot of the people she has to deal with on a daily basis are but also how genius some can be, how she has a hand in determining just what goes down that runway, what people next season will be wearing, not just those who buy designer but high street too. It all filters down. To have that kind of immediate influence must be gratifying in a way I don’t really experience with my medium. I joked that the power would go to my head and I would end up creating a capsule collection where everything was made out of jelly sandals and tiny plastic dolls, just to try and get everyone to wear silly things en masse. She said she could easily picture it and that she would 100% support it! 

Anyway, tonight I’m going to another artists’ guild dinner. People from The Whitney will be there so there won’t be totally unrecognisable faces all staring at me with expectation. Bianca helped me decide on a black second hand Chanel dress I found at a thrift store last time I was here. I sure struck gold with that one - it’s incredible. From sometime in the 90s and you can tell because it’s that classic, french Chanel chic but its long sleeves and high neck are mesh. The bust of it is basically large strips of satin crossing over, concealing very little (but I have very little to conceal so it works) and the skirt poofs out slightly, finishing just above the knee. So damn perfect. 

Bianca suggested pairing it with heels and a blazer but bitch that’s too traditional for me. She’ll learn soon enough LOL. 

Anyway, I better go and mentally prepare myself. I gotta talk up what I’m doing with these people, convince them that I’m making a statement on womanhood and not orchestrating an elaborate cry for help…

Last note to self - have three cocktails before dinner and nothing during or after. Stick to your promise to yourself. The world won’t end and you will keep your story straight. It’s not lying, it’s obfuscating the truth for everyone’s greater good. 

KZ :-?

-

Katya stepped out of Trixie’s embrace, turned off the taps and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the tub, the water sloshing around them. She felt cruel, not giving Trixie an answer straight away, doing unto her what she cannot stand herself. It wasn’t completely intentional, however, she needed movement and direction in order to be able to view Trixie’s admission with some sense of normality. Her gut reaction had been to fall to her knees and roll around on the floor in disbelief, which would have ultimately raised a few questions, if not deterring Trixie from her completely. So she sat Trixie down on the side without the plug hole and came to kneel over her, ignoring the crunching of her kneecaps against the hard porcelain. 

As Trixie lay back, she towered over her, resting her hands by each side of Trixie’s body so she could bring her face as close to hers as possible without touching, so she could look deep into her eyes. 

“Listen, I haven’t been someone’s girlfriend in a very, very long time. There are things about me that aren’t agreeable with that kind of intimacy and you deserve the best.” Trixie opened her mouth, her forehead creasing with disappointment. Katya pressed a finger to her parted lips to prevent her from interrupting. God, how they were plump and perfect, with or without lipstick. How that mouth of hers was filthy and sweet all at once…

“I’m terrified of letting you down and I’m not good at showing or sharing my feelings but, well, since coming here and meeting you, I’ve started to want to have a different outlook. All I ask is that you be patient with me, that we take things slow— god, to think, most lesbians would have done the whole U-haul thing by now. Anyway, that’s not the point.” She took a deep breath, flicked her gaze from one of Trixie’s pupils to the other intermittently like she was searching for enlightenment. “The point is...yes. You must be crazy. Let’s be girlfriends.” 

The relief was clear on Trixie’s face. She exhaled, sinking deeper into the water and Katya couldn’t help but laugh despite the severity of her acceptance and the consequences that would undoubtedly creep up on her, on them, one day. 

Because it was inevitable. At some point down the line, Trixie would find out. Katya wasn’t a genius, she couldn’t cover up absolutely everything and undermine Trixie’s intelligence in thinking she wouldn’t ask questions at the very least, or actively search for answers at the most. And it was reckless, what she was doing, more reckless than taking drugs at school or slashing open her arm in plain sight then wrapping it up like a bandaid would prevent people seeing. It was more reckless than running out into the night out of her mind and not coming home. It was more reckless than thinking she was on top of everything when her world was expanding beyond her periphery and that she could handle being seen by so many people. 

Katya swallowed down her nausea, focussed on Trixie’s neck, tilted back so fittingly for her to kiss. She started underneath her ear, pressing her tongue into a spot which made Trixie shudder and ask her to do it again. She did, over and over, until she moved further down. The steam and the heat from the water surrounded them like a protective blanket. Katya didn’t feel safe but, for now, she was warm and generally happy and it might have been selfishness or it might have been hope blooming inside her, but she could push away the thought that her impetuous actions would wreck everything unlike ever before. 

They lay, soaking with their legs tangled, and commented on the aromas from the bath bombs swirling around in the air. Katya wondered if Trixie could see how wildly her heart beat in her chest. She listened to Trixie’s words to streamline her focus. Trixie chatted and chatted, utterly unaware, until Katya could breathe properly again.

Deciding having sex in the bath and potentially getting water everywhere wasn’t wise, especially when Katya didn’t know what would happen if it leaked down to the garages, they kept their roaming hands (for the most part) to themselves, though the heated glances they shared made anticipation swell in Katya’s stomach, overriding the feeling of sickness, the guilt. She was truly caught up in Trixie’s spell. All she had to do was run her hand over her thigh and Katya was hypnotised.

Katya talked Trixie through her plans to convert the ground floor and watched Trixie get _that look_ again. “That sounds amazing.” She said as she started to rub her foot along Katya’s shin as if she was soothing her, encouraging her to go on. “What furniture and stuff would you have in there, then?” 

“Bobby’s in charge of all that. He’s going to draw up some plans and do a mood board for me to approve and then he’ll start shopping around.” 

“You should think about upcycling. We could do it together. Find an old desk or set of shelves and redo it, like, bright red, or paint a wacky design on it.” 

Katya smiled. “Damn, I spoke too soon about U-hauling, didn’t I? You’re such a fuckin’ dyke.” 

“I’m just sensible! And I’d love to see you in overalls, maybe with a drill. Ooh.” She pretended to fan herself, sending Katya into fits of laughter. 

“That can be arranged regardless, you know.” Katya simpered. Trixie blushed, bit her lip and told her to shut up when she pointed out the colour rouging her cheeks. 

“Anyway, you said it’ll be your studio. You’re going to start painting again?” 

Katya sobered, nodded. “I think so.”

“I’d love to see some of your artwork.” Trixie looked down to where she was tinkling her fingers in the water, playing with the last remnants of suds. 

This was inevitable too. She’d tried her hardest not to mention her art but there was only so much time they could spend together until it would become suspicious not to at least give Trixie a glimpse, a story or two from her time in the galleries. She was cornered, nonetheless, because she was absolutely not going to show Trixie her most successful work. And there was the fear that, somehow, Trixie would google her and find something Katya didn’t want her to see. 

Once she had embarked upon her recovery, Katya had requested that all the galleries she had shown at throughout the years remove her from their archives and their websites. She’d had Dan do his best to wipe all evidence of her work from search engines and public domains, which was no easy feat and took the best part of a year, not to mention a shit tonne of money. He didn’t even specialise in that kind of law, but he did it for her regardless. She had never been more grateful than in that moment and vowed to thank him (for the billionth time) when she rang him next. 

“Maybe next time you’re here, I can get a few things out for you.” Katya said, sitting forward so she could run her hands up and down Trixie’s thighs. “We can have a good giggle at my art school performance pieces.” 

Katya added more hot water a couple of times before they decided that they had become too wrinkly for comfort and it was therefore best they dried off. Katya let Trixie get out first, not from a chivalrous, ladies first perspective, but because she wanted to watch Trixie’s naked body shift and wobble as she reached to get a towel for herself, track the water running down her skin. She wanted to lick it all off her, touch her in as many places as Trixie would allow.

Katya twitched. No matter her shortcomings and the secret that was lumping its hefty weight on her conscience, she was determined to show Trixie how much she valued her, how she treasured her presence and appreciated how fortuitous she was to be able to hug her, kiss her, fuck her until she was screaming. 

It had been well over a week. She couldn’t wait any longer. 

-

11th March 2011 

Holy fucking shit balls am I hungover as fuck. It’s 5pm, I’ve just woken up and I have to be at The Whitney’s party THAT THEY ARE THROWING FOR ME in three hours. I feel like the devil’s ass crack. FUCK.

From what I can remember, opening was a giant motherfucking success. The space was packed, people pushing and shoving and squeezing to get in. Journalists were there, critics from magazines, Andre Leon Talley???? Jen brought what I assume to be her entire group of colleagues plus a few friends she’s made at fashion week. I think even someone from Gucci was there too? 

I can barely see what I’m writing here and looking at the page is only making my headache worse but I need to document what I can because my memory is failing me more and more and I think that, in a few months down the line, I will have forgotten the details and the details are always what’s important. 

So, I’ll start from the beginning…

Bianca had finished making the final touches to my dress that very morning and we spent the rest of the day going through admin together and scheduling for the next few weeks. I have interviews in journals and art magazines all over the world lined up - there was one request for a phone interview for a feminist zine in Iceland that I absolutely could not pass up and I’m actually super excited for. Bianca also helped me practice the little speech I had to do and was surprisingly good at pulling me out of my terror and back into my performance mindset. 

Then it was time to get ready. I was bringing Bianca along too, obviously, not just as my assistant but as my friend. The dress she made is stunning - short and black and sequined and beaded and so perfectly me whilst still honouring her more traditional style. It took us about two hours, once I’d showered and put makeup on too, for us to get out the door. 

The Whitney is an incredible museum and it only really hit me as the cab drew up outside, that I was actually going to have an exhibition there. Paulina introduced me to countless people, their faces and connections and importance all blending and blurring into one. Before I knew it, I was being ushered to the entrance of the space my works are in, everyone following me, facing me with expectant eyes. 

I greeted the crowd, introduced myself and explained a little of my background like Bianca told me to. I made a stupid joke like, “I believe it was the great Bob Ross who said...the key to a swollen vagina is courage.” That suitably caught everyone off guard as I’m sure they were anticipating something deep or inspirational or serious, at least, and I managed to have the crowd in hysterics, which I saw more of a success than if they actually liked my work or not. 

When I had to discuss the inspirations and intentions behind my exhibition, I kept it firmly grounded in feminist readings and relayed that even though the works are all of seemingly the same figure (woman), the emphasis is on the range of ways she has been destroyed, highlighting how our society should put focus on male violence and preventative measures for men and their deficiencies, instead of honing in on the woman, the victim, and what she could have possibly done better or what she did to so-called ‘deserve’ her treatment. 

I’m not gonna lie, it was scary making such statements in front of the men watching me. But the importance of it and truth to it outweighed everything else. If we are silent, we continue to be subservient. The female voice and gaze, I said, needed to be at the forefront of every future art movement for any progression to take place. 

Finally, everyone was free to roam around and study the pieces. I stood to the side and watched - watched myself watching like I was having an out of body experience. 

From what I could tell, reading people and their expressions and their whispers to each other, the response was favourable, sometimes enamoured, sometimes awed. Hoards upon hoards spoke with me, either to compliment, ask questions or demonstrate their agreement with my sentiments. I was invited to parties and rooftops and discussions and protests. I accepted it all yet did nothing to follow it all through. I suppose if they really want me around, they’ll properly seek my presence.

Jen’s friend (the one from Gucci) asked me about the subject, kept pressing rather insistently - was she a friend, a family member, a woman I personally knew who had suffered at the hands of violent men, a lover? 

What could I say but: all of the above.

That earned me a laugh, an extended conversation and more praise. I pretended to be a witty raconteur to cover myself. I had told the truth, really. 

It was on to dinner at a restaurant I can’t even remember the fucking name of. I downed a few mini bottles of whatever spirit I could get my hands on at the liquor store in the car on the way there. Bianca looked at me...differently. The image of her during that ride is seared into my memory, even when so much else isn’t. 

From then on, everything is a lot more hazy. We drank Dom Perignon with dinner, Jen spilled red wine over her top and fashioned a new one from a handful of napkins and some large safety pins she had in her bag, and Gucci man invited some of us to a VIP lounge in Manhattan. I must have had two or three bottles of champagne myself by this point. I remember dancing and Jen pushing away some guy who ‘joked’ about undoing her safety pins and I may or may not have slapped him. 

I have no recollection of when Bianca left or saying goodbye to everyone or how I got home. 

Dear god, now I have to go and do it all again. I definitely need something to wake me up. Fucking hell. 

(I wonder if I’ll see Her tonight…)

KZ X-S

-

Katya led Trixie by the hand to her bedroom, bringing her candle from the bathroom to rest on her desk. She kept the lights off and drew her curtains, all the while with Trixie plastered to her back, running her hands over Katya’s naked and still slightly damp body. There was something about Trixie having used her soap, her towels, that made her smile privately to herself before she turned, pushing Trixie towards her bed. The robe she had left for her was there, untouched. She threw it aside. 

Katya lay Trixie down, smoothing her hair as she leaned over her, bracing herself on her other forearm as she wrapped her finger around one of Trixie’s many blonde waves. “Feeling all relaxed now?”

Trixie sighed dramatically. “Not really. See, my _girlfriend_ ran this amazing bath for me and treated me so wonderfully but she’s taking her damn time to fuck me so…” 

“Oh life is so hard.” Katya played along, tugging a little harder on Trixie’s hair. Then, she got to business. “What do you want?” 

“I’m so fucking horny, Kat, just do something.”

Katya rolled her eyes then sat up atop of Trixie’s thighs. She undulated her hips, put more weight on her hands and pressed the mound of her cunt down harder as she slid forward to pause over the pouch of Trixie’s stomach. The pressure was barely there but it sent a jolt through her nonetheless and she filed away the idea to use Trixie in such a way sometime in the near future. 

They ended up with Trixie on her hands and knees, Katya thrusting two fingers in and out of her roughly until she was groaning with frustration, ready to come but not quite stimulated enough. “Baby, I need more.” She whined and Katya, arm aching and kneeling behind her, snapped out of her trance. 

She had been staring in wonder at where they connected, being able to so vividly watch and feel where she pushed inside Trixie a gateway to a euphoric flow state, her mind empty of all but _her_. How her back arched when Katya reached a certain spot or crooked her fingers at a particular angle was more beautiful than any artwork she had ever created or witnessed. How her ass jiggled when she moved backwards in time to eagerly meet Katya’s touch made her so wet she thought she would come without Trixie having to do anything else at all. 

She slowly eased out of her, using the same hand to push her face into the pillow so her hair got just that little bit messy, so Trixie had to forcibly turn her head to try and get a glimpse of Katya, to no real success. Katya then ran both her hands down Trixie’s sides, squeezing her ass before pulling her hips up. She was willing and open in that position, ready for the taking. Katya bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering at the sight. Then, she lowered her face and positively devoured her.

Trixie came, loud and unrestrained, screeching until she collapsed flat on the bed with Katya’s arms wrapped around her waist, hugging her into her stomach. Katya let her breathe and come down then licked up from her clit to her entrance a few final times. “Just cleaning you up.” She said when Trixie flinched from the sensation, too much too soon after such a powerful orgasm. 

“God, that was…” Trixie trailed off, pressing her face into the pillow once more as if she was embarrassed by how affected she was. 

Katya let go of her and crawled up her body, first to press a kiss to the back of her neck before kneeling each side of Trixie’s shoulders, hoping she would get the message. She didn’t turn around immediately, evidently still luxuriating in her own pleasure, which only made Katya more desperate for her. When Trixie eventually did face upwards, her eyes were wide and blown and her cheeks were more flushed than they had been from the heat of their shared bath. Katya saw it as a victory.

“Now I think I need some appreciation.” Katya prompted. Trixie shifted properly onto her back, her legs splayed apart and her hands coming to hold onto Katya’s hips. Katya lowered herself down and Trixie didn’t hesitate, her tongue flicking up to massage her clit. She flattened it, then, and Katya moved even closer, needing as much as she could get. She put her hands on Trixie’s, keeping her there, and closed her eyes, her focus wholly overtaken. 

Katya soon began to pulse up and down. Trixie didn’t need to do much but she did anyway, quickening her pace until Katya was coming, her grip on Trixie’s vicelike, her breath ragged and deep. She fell forwards from the intensity of it all, almost hitting her forehead against the wall, and sighed, the kind only brought about by unfiltered ecstasy. 

They fell asleep together after Katya settled, wiped herself off and blew out the candle. Cuddled up with Trixie, Katya watched the remnants of smoke curl and disappear until there was nothing left. She closed her eyes, breathed Trixie in and held her girlfriend tight to her chest, enraptured by how natural and decided it felt to be in such a position. It had been long awaited. She knew she had to do everything she could to keep Trixie near. Katya had had her for such a big portion of her life. She didn’t think she could survive losing her all over again.

-

20th March 2011

Frida fucking Giannini came for a viewing yesterday. Word must spread faster than wildfire at Gucci, fuck. Paulina texted Bianca second-by-second updates from her desk, apparently getting running commentary from one of the gallery assistants who was lucky enough to be put in the right room at the right time. She was as ever bit as intimidating and it was all so typical Devil Wears Prada shit, apparently, her two assistants blindly following her and nodding emphatically at every point she made, clearly not allowed to have opinions of their own. I was mid-meditation during all this so Bianca didn’t disturb me but I can only begin to imagine her reactions. 

I have a feeling this means something. I feel it coming, but I’m not sure what. I should Skype with Vada, see what she says. 

Sometimes it seems like only two minutes ago that I was worrying over the direction of my art at SIM. Now, I’m worrying about all that, of course, but more because people who have influence and status and such within our culture are coming to see what I do. And I wonder what assumptions or associations that places upon me, without me having much say, if any at all. 

Jen’s flipping out, hyping this up to something I don’t know if it deserves just yet. She said Frida doesn’t do anything without intention. Publicly, anyway. I guess with everything, it’s a matter of wait and see. I’m not letting myself hand wring.

I have a day off today then I’m back to doing interviews tomorrow. I think once all this blows over or dies out, I’m going to fuck off somewhere for a few weeks and just fucking lie down in the sun and rest and stay clean and as clear headed as I can. That’s assuming it will calm and not keep snowballing at the rate it seemingly has been doing. I can’t help but think that, at some point, everything is going to come crashing to an almighty stop.

KZ :-/

-

Waking up next to Trixie, Katya opened her eyes to find herself already smiling. To Katya’s relief, they had separated during the night, rolling to their own sides of the bed to give each other space, which she very much appreciated. It was nice, so fucking nice, to know Trixie was just an arm’s length away, there but not smothering her, not making her overheat or sweat too much from being stuck to her like a limpet. It was perfect and, once she’d yawned and stretched, that desire to feel her skin touching Trixie’s returned in full force. 

The light from the morning sun peeked through the gaps in the curtains, coming to grace the top of Trixie’s head where it was visible above where she had cocooned herself in Katya’s sheets. Katya rested on her side, one hand shoved under her pillow, so she was watching Trixie’s back and her knotted hair, still but animate, three dimensional. The sudden urge to draw her rose from its slumber. She hadn’t done so since the night she couldn’t sleep after they had properly met, too enamoured with interacting with the real thing than to put her back as the insentient subject. 

When Trixie stirred, Katya counted ten seconds in her head to give her at least a little time to come round before she shuffled up to her and pressed a kiss behind her ear, to her bare shoulder. Trixie hummed and sniffled, reaching behind herself blindly to take a hold of Katya’s hand and pull her arm around her so Katya could hold her properly. Katya felt how she inhaled deeply, how she wiggled her toes and shifted so she was optimally comfortable, and how she ensured as much of Katya’s body was in contact with her own. Going from imagining her to seeing her to touching her properly was a beautiful succession.

“Good morning.” Katya murmured in her ear, her voice deep and low.

“It sure is.” Trixie said and Katya smiled wider. 

They took their time to wake up, kissing lazily without intentions for it to go further. But, unsurprisingly, it did. Katya manoeuvred Trixie so they were face to face, side to side, their wrists bumping as they mirrored each other’s movements. Katya then changed position to bring her face in between Trixie’s legs. They ate each other out until Trixie came, nails digging into Katya’s ass. Katya came soon after, Trixie’s tongue lapping against her as fast as she could manage when she was so well fucked, her whole body lax and sanguine.

Katya let Trixie get ready first and brought her some infused ice water once she stepped out of the shower. They laughed and joked and pranced around and, when Katya was getting dressed, Trixie took a call from her mom in the living room. Katya tried not to listen in as she was choosing her outfit and swiping a vibrant red across her lips but she couldn’t help but hear snippets here and there. Trixie didn’t talk to her mom like she did. Katya noticed, slipping her feet into her shoes, that Trixie’s answers were short and to the point, sometimes just one word, which was so unlike how Trixie spoke to anyone else. She didn’t want to pry but it intrigued her nonetheless. 

Katya’s plan was to take a walk through Elysian Park down to a cafe she’d been meaning to try, have coffee and breakfast there then wander to an independent gallery a little further up on Sunset Boulevard. It was a typical Sunday kind of itinerary for her, nothing special, but the fact that Trixie would be alongside her made her energetic and fizz with excitement. 

After having waited enough time once Trixie had finished her conversation to reappear without seeming like she had hidden away until it was over, Katya emerged, sunglasses perched on top of her head, shoving her phone and keys into her petite, across the body bag. Trixie, sat on the sofa, looked up at her and barked out a laugh. 

“What? _What_?” Katya asked, amused by her reaction.

“Only you could wear a dress with fucking peas in a pod all over it and look so damn gorgeous.” In turn, Trixie had put on a cute, short blue dress with a white peter pan collar and her converse from the previous day. She looked positively adorable and Katya rushed to tell her so, favouring that instead of properly responding to Trixie’s compliment.

Katya pulled her up and out the door, locking up then taking her hand as she led the way. 

“Humour me, then.” Trixie said. “What fancy brand is it?” She gestured up and down Katya’s body. 

Katya rolled her eyes but belatedly realised it would have no effect when wearing her sunglasses. “I got this from Aliexpress actually.” 

The two of them burst into fits of laughter, Katya swinging their adjoined hands in between them.

“Damn it.” Trixie grinned. “Ok, your glasses?”

“Etsy.” 

She huffed, tried one last time. “Your shoes?”

_Shit_ , Katya thought. “Valentino.”

“Got you!” Trixie jumped up and down triumphantly and Katya tried to hide how her glee made her laugh again. 

They made their way down Academy Road, amongst the palm trees and next to the green grass of the park entrance. Stopping off briefly at Angels Point, Katya told Trixie to stand amongst the metal construction so she could take some photos. “I don’t have that many of you.” She realised, aloud. Trixie was all too happy to pose, especially when she spotted some bold red graffiti which read ‘sit on my face’. Katya was disappointed no one was around to take a picture of them both with it. 

“The view’s amazing here.” Trixie said but Katya hadn’t once thought about the horizon or the sun reflecting off the buildings from downtown. All she focussed on was Trixie. So she could agree, readily so, but they were talking about two different things and Katya enjoyed how Trixie had no idea, in that moment. 

“How’s your mom?” Katya asked, once they’d set off again, looking down at their feet where they had fallen into step with each other. 

“The usual. We don’t have the best relationship, I’m sure you’ve picked up on that by now. I do a lot for her, even though when I was growing up she didn’t do a lot for me. I try not to be bitter about it and be the bigger person, y’know, but sometimes it’s hard.”

Katya glanced sidewards to check on her, just briefly, and was met with the glorious sight of her with her head tilted upwards, the light catching her highlighter. “Just goes to show how kind a person you are.” Katya supplied, not wanting to overstep. 

“Or how much of a doormat I am. I pay her bills sometimes, I pay for her medical insurance ‘cause she’s diabetic and shit like that, and I’m already barely scraping by and she’s still, like, _difficult_.” Trixie flapped her hand about. “She was the reason I had to go out of town after we first met.” They were getting to the end of their route, down North Boylston Street, and Katya began to think that this kind of conversation wouldn’t occur on the city sidewalk, was best being contained amongst the high banks of foliage on each side of the pathway. 

“Couldn’t any siblings or other family members help?” Katya asked, pushing down the urge to offer Trixie something she would deeply detest and resent. 

“My little sister is ten years younger than me so that’s not an option and my brother and I don’t really speak and he isn’t that reliable either. It’s best I just handle it all.”

“That must be tough, having her effectively be your responsibility.” Katya squeezed her hand once. She let out her breath when Trixie squeezed back. 

“Yeah. Anyway, it’s not like I’m the only dyke with mommy issues.” She finally looked at Katya, a playful grin back upon her face which Katya was all too happy to return.

“Alison Bechdel who?” Katya quipped and Trixie’s scream-laugh echoed amongst the greenery. 

The cafe Katya had chosen was spacious and minimalist, white counters with white walls, bare save for a couple of sets of shelves here and there, where zines and books were slotted for perusal. Katya ordered for the both of them, getting an ‘Eightfold Cold Brew’ for herself and a matcha iced tea for Trixie, who was fanning herself with her hand, beads of sweat dotting her temples. They sat by the window, inside because the air con was a sweet relief for the both of them. 

“Have you any mommy issues? I feel, like, we’re girlfriends now, it’s safe to delve into the traumas, right?” Trixie joked but Katya could tell it was only partially. Katya had her always delving for scraps of information.

She smiled nonetheless. She was pleased she could be honest when talking about her relationship with her mom now. “Sorry to disappoint but my mom is amazing. We text quite a lot and talk on the phone every Friday. Family Friday, we call it, and I’m fully aware of how lame that sounds but hey.” She nattered on about her siblings and her dad, talked probably more than she ever had with Trixie and it all came out naturally, not in a way to distract or detract, or with a purpose other than to enable Trixie to understand her a little better.

“What does your dad do?” Trixie asked, patting herself with a (recyclable) paper napkin, careful so as not to take off any of her foundation on her forehead.

“He has his own company, something to do with oil and gas.” 

“And your mom?” 

“She helps dad out whenever she’s needed, does some volunteering and charity work here and there. And it was a full time job looking after me.” 

It slipped out, so easily, as if she was talking about something as simple as the weather or, indeed, her parents’ careers. Katya’s entire body ran cold. She took a gulp from her coffee, both to stop her from saying anything else and to help her focus on a sensation, the icy liquid travelling down her tightening throat. When Trixie furrowed her brows, she knew she was done for.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, y’know, I lived with them for a while before I came here so she liked fussing over me.” It wasn’t a lie, necessarily. “She would drive me places and cook for me, though I never asked her to.”

“Sounds familiar.” Trixie quipped but she still seemed a little dubious, holding her gaze as if studying her veracity. She thankfully let it go. Katya suggested, then, that they look at the menu for breakfast. Once they’d ordered and their food arrived and she had recovered, satisfied that she hadn’t raised any proper suspicion, Katya asked Trixie about her brother. 

“He’s a typical straight man, has dated views and still thinks the caregiving duties in the family should be a woman’s, so even if I refused to be the one to help mom out, he’d probably rope his wife into doing something instead of him. Mom wouldn’t be happy with that, understandably, and poor Sarah has a life of her own. It’s not her responsibility just because he’s useless.” 

“True. God, imagine if men just fucking pulled their weight, how different this world would be.” Katya sighed and placed her hand on top of Trixie’s where it rested on the table. “If you ever need to rant or blow off some steam, I’m all ears, yeah?” 

Trixie smiled. “Thank you, I appreciate that. And being all ears makes a change from being all grizzled skin and bone, so that’s nice for you.” Katya laughed, all wheezy and hysteric, relieved to hear Trixie’s humour return. 

Once they’d finished up and Katya had paid (staunchly rejecting Trixie’s offers), they went on to the gallery. The spring in Trixie’s step was back and Katya couldn’t resist pulling her into her side and kissing her on the cheek. 

“Ew, you better not get red lipstick on me!” Trixie made a show of disgust, which only made Katya kiss her again and again and again, peppering kisses all over her face in the middle of the sidewalk, uncaring as to who saw. 

“I’d happily cover your whole body in red lipstick, if you catch my meaning.” 

Trixie tucked her chin into her chest and huffed a laugh. “Of course I catch your meaning, there’s only one thing you ever mean with me, you filthy animal.” 

They whiled away the rest of the day together, observing the art at Subliminal Projects, discussing what they liked and didn’t, and going to the grocery store so Trixie could buy ingredients for their dinner. Trixie teased her again about being hopeless in the kitchen but Katya was happy to receive it, receive anything, because it was from _her_ and that was a gift that kept on giving. They agreed that after dinner, Trixie would drive home and Katya knew it was sensible and that Trixie had a job to get up early for and a whole life outside of her, but it didn’t make it easier when she kissed her goodbye. 

Before sleeping alone that night, Katya picked up her sketchbook and drew and drew and drew.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll now that I have a lot more spare time so I thought I'd start posting more frequently. I know you're all dying for the shit to hit the fan and, believe me, it will. There's just a few more situations Katya needs to go through first ;) I'm mean, I know. But I'm having too much fun so please humour me. It'll all be worth it (I hope). 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's reading this.

1st April 2011

Gucci want to collaborate. With me. 

My art will be on t-shirts and dresses and cardigans and skirts and hoodies and fucking handbags too. It will all be available for purchase, if everything goes to plan, in July 2012 after being debuted during fashion week in February.

I’ve not written in here in over a week because I can’t quite formulate much of anything beyond going through the motions of meetings and contracts and emails and deadlines. There’s been so much information that I haven’t been able to digest any of it, really, and I feel like I’m floating along, being pulled this way and that, so I can get to the end and snap back into place. 

The design team have given me a list of prerequisites which I’m happy to adhere to else I’d be all over the show and, from their standpoint, they need to set out some rules as whatever is put out by such a massive brand should, of course, keep in line with their overall vision and style. If I suddenly took over, it would be jelly sandals all round like I’d joked with Jen about only a couple of months ago. 

Damn, she was right. Something big has come. 

The funniest thing to me about all this is that they don’t want my full name to be used as they think it’s too foreign and difficult for people to pronounce. Ok, Gucci, famous Italian brand, whatever you say goes, I guess…I must admit, everyone has been lovely so far and Marco and Amy and their colleagues reassured me that it was nothing personal and that the issue wouldn’t detract from the work one bit. I lightened the mood after all that with a joke-that-wasn’t-really-a-joke, saying how I know people are stupid, I’ve made peace with it. My quirky deliverance and OTT grimace abated any possible tensions. 

To say I haven’t lost sleep every night since I got the formal invitation to go down to their head office on Broadway would be a huge fucking lie. I physically couldn’t decline their offer, my body signed the initial contract before my mind caught up with it and began to go into shock, then panic, then a mixture of uneasy feelings alongside pure, unadulterated elation. 

It’s so strange, and I don’t think it ever won’t be, to know She has got me where I am, that She is the reason. Quite literally, now. If I had never seen Her, I wouldn’t be about to embark on the most flabbergasting and incredible opportunity, I wouldn’t have been inspired and driven and been given at least one thing to always come back to, no matter how far I stray, how vast the landscapes I wander into are. And yet, She’s the one thing I didn’t ever want to share with anyone else. To expose Her is to expose myself but, volatile as I am, I’m sturdy enough to believe I won’t break, now, it won’t end me to have Her everywhere. It’ll just be a lot to adjust to. She was only ever mine. Soon, She’ll be bought and sold. 

If I get too deep into it, I start wondering how She feels, whether She is betrayed by my increasing willingness to share Her, whether She wants me to be alone with Her like we used to be and if She resents being turned into a commodity. When She comes to me, no one else around, it’s a different sensation than anything else. It’s in those times that I feel most assured that everything is all alright. And that’s nuts, isn’t it? When no one else can see Her should be when I panic most. But no. She’s the comfort. Maybe She’ll bring comfort or happiness or whatever to whoever buys the many, many variations of Her. 

All I know is that no one but She and I have what we have. 

I start designing tomorrow. Amy and the team said they’re happy with me using some pre-existing works (Bianca just had to remind me of that), that I can modify them how I see fit to best suit the item they’ll be printed on, but that they require a minimum of fifty percent new material. She’s with me so much, at the moment - there’s no chance of me running out of inspiration. It might not be the healthiest of plans but, seeing as there’s so much to do in so little time, I’m going to shut myself in my apartment, get royally fucked, speak to Her and let Her guide me, and draw as much as I fucking can.

Thank fuck for Bianca doing literally everything else. My collection is my focus now. I’m very lucky to be able to rely on her. She brings me food and picks up my dry cleaning and tells me off when I’m getting too bad. I don’t know what I’m going to do when Broadway season starts up again in September and she’ll be back waving her magic in the theatres. I make sure to tell her every day how important she is to me, not just as a colleague (because she’s not my equal - she’s better than me, way more talented and inspirational) but as a companion. If it weren’t for her (and Her), I would have been very, very lost these past months.

So, I guess this is the beginning. Gucci x KATYA. 

Fucking hell…

KZ :-?!

-

“Hey, honey, I know things must be busy at the moment with the renovations— thank you for the photos you sent, by the way, Bobby’s doing a great job. If Jerry and Suzanne ever need anything doing you need to remind me to get his details for them. Anyway, it might not be the best time but your father and I were wondering if we could visit in a couple of weeks? We’d stay at The Ritz-Carlton, downtown, so we wouldn’t be in your hair, but we miss you, darling, and it’d be wonderful if you could show us around. You’re welcome to come stay in the suite as well of course, if things are too noisy at your place. Maybe we could meet this Trixie of yours too, if you’re comfortable with that? No pressure. Dan and Shan are checking their schedules and seeing if they can make it as well. I don’t think Dan will bring the baby, though. Angie said she’ll go to her mother’s at the same time, let Katherine do some babysitting whilst she has a well earned break at the spa. They’ll have an answer for me by Friday so we can all catch up properly then. No need to ring back but just send me a text to let me know if that’s alright and then we can book the hotel and our flights. Ok, speak soon. Mwah!” 

The beep at the end of the message on Katya’s voicemail seemed louder. She was back at Shreebs coffee again, sitting in the sun after a yoga session, trying to get some peace and quiet away from the banging and hammering. 

Katya had rented storage on Glendale Boulevard, putting her diaries and her artwork in the tiny grey room, along with a few other bits and pieces she hadn’t quite properly worked out where to situate ever since she moved. It seemed excessive, a whole unit dedicated to things she could have just shoved in her bedroom. She would have rather been excessive than have anything discovered. 

True to her word, however, she had spent an afternoon with Trixie showing her some of her least incriminating pieces before she shut most of them off from the world once more, plus video footage from a couple of SIM projects. 

Trixie had particularly liked the self portrait Katya had done in New York. She had painted herself, blank expression, with her choppy fringe and blunt long bob, her eyes rimmed by copious amounts of black eyeliner, her lips red and thin, the trick of overdrawing not having yet reached her. She had detailed her black choker and the ripped black top she had made herself. What attracted Trixie the most, however, was the depiction of her jacket, an explosion of pinks and whites and royal blues and reds, the balls of spiky faux fur like vibrant fireworks. Trixie slapped her in mock anger when Katya admitted she didn’t know where that jacket was and that she had probably lost it during her move back to Marlborough. 

Bobby had begun the work to pull down the internal walls which had separated the three parking spaces below her apartment. His workers were considerate and efficient and Katya was free of the noise by six in the evening, so she never let herself complain, it being such a first world problem anyway. Instead, she had taken the chance to spend as much time outdoors as she could, sunbathing in the park, lounging on the grass and listening to all the music she used to religiously back when her taste was much more limited and of the ilk of tortured souls. She walked, hiked up to the Hollywood sign and found different trails to explore. 

She had also stayed at Trixie’s a lot more, sometimes all through the day, Trixie trusting her enough to leave her key with her until she came back from work. In Trixie’s room, she had read and played with the Barbies she had been told weren’t rare collectables, and sent videos of the skits she made up with them to keep Trixie entertained during her break. They had fucked as soon as Trixie got through the door, sometimes, and eaten dinner in her bed to avoid interacting with her housemates during their post coital haze. And Katya was so fucking happy, ignorant to everything beyond the sunshine and her girlfriend and the positive changes happening right on her doorstep. 

So when she listened to her mom’s message, it was like she had been doused in cold water, or dunked into a frozen lake completely, the warmth that had filled her up recently suddenly evaporating. She had become so caught up in being with Trixie, relishing in the miracle of fulfilling every fantasy she had ever had, that she truly hadn’t thought about what being in a proper relationship with her would mean with regards to friends and family in reality. She had only ever considered the what-if scenarios, never coming to practical conclusions. 

Until then, she had kept pictures of Trixie off her social media and so Trixie had wordlessly done the same with her, only tagging her in items she thought resembled her or in gifts that Katya had given her. Katya had relied on Violet’s uncaring nature and self absorption to let everything go undetected, she had googled herself to find nothing untoward and she had assumed, being all the way in Boston and Portland, that her family wouldn’t be meeting Trixie any time soon. 

Oh how wrong she was. If she hadn’t been in public when she played her mom’s voicemail, she would have kicked herself.

She let herself lose composure for the duration of her walk back home. She shook, she sweat, her teeth chattered and she felt like the iced latte she’d had was going to make one of two possible unpleasant exits at any moment’s notice. She allowed the panic to rear its ugly head in order to be able to leave it at the door, to understand the depth of what she was experiencing so she could act accordingly, to help herself help herself. 

The work happening beneath her became the soundtrack to the formulation of her next steps. She sat at her desk in her bedroom, the open windows only amplifying the sounds. The irksomeness of them aided her focus, somehow. 

First, she texted her mom to tell her she would love to see everyone and that she was happy to come stay with her in the hotel. Ranting about Trixie’s work schedule during the past few weeks had played in her favour as she was able to plant the seed of Trixie possibly being too busy to be available. She figured she could tell Trixie she was going out of town for a few days to get some peace and, in the eventuality that her family wanted to see photos of her, in the interim she would make sure to take a few pictures of Trixie bare faced and with her hair up. Without the stacked lashes, eyeliner, contouring and bright lipstick, she looked a lot less like Katya’s portraits of her, enough that Katya could risk it. 

Secondly, well, that was as far as she got with her ideas. Everything else was too overwhelming and seemingly impossible to solve. She made sure not to admonish herself, instead getting out of her seat and jumping up and down as she repeated, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” She must have looked bonkers to the neighbours. There would be much more of where that came from once her studio was done, she thought and laughed, despite herself. 

When Friday came around, the Zamolodchikova group chat had already hashed out a lot of the details but it was still important for Katya’s state of mind to hear it all firsthand, to laugh with her mom and listen to her dad’s monotone voice relaying their flight details and check in times. They were to stay five days and, although she was petrified of Trixie finding out about her lie, she couldn’t wait to see her family, hug her mom, pick up her sister like she used to when they were kids and banter with her brother. Her dad, who was a man of few but important words, was the one she looked forward to seeing the most, however. He was often busy with the business and wasn’t around for a lot of the weekly phone calls, as well as being useless with texting, but she knew, as soon as he saw her, he would ignore everything else to be with her. 

The day after, she went to stay at Trixie’s and for the first couple of hours of being in her company, she couldn’t shake the thought that Trixie would be able to tell something was amiss, that Katya was keeping more and more things from her.

“Are you ok?” Trixie asked eventually. They were in bed watching some trash on Netflix, The Circle, Katya thought but wasn’t sure as she had zoned out as soon as Trixie pressed play, her worries more pressing than the stupid gym bro talking loudly to himself in the mirror. “You’ve been quiet tonight and,” Trixie shifted to tap her space bar then turned on her side to look at Katya properly, “Well, you’ve been a bit distant these past few days too.”

Katya took careful breaths, tried to control the expansion of her chest so Trixie couldn’t detect any signs of her anxiety. “I haven’t realised. I’m sorry, baby, I guess having people at my place all the time and the noise and everything - it must have gotten to me.”

“You know you don’t have to pretend you’re this impenetrable, put together woman. We all know you’re a monster.” Trixie joked, earning a smile and an affectionate roll of the eyes. “But like, you are human. You spend so much time and effort looking after me and making me laugh and whatever, and I adore that, don’t get me wrong, but...I can tell when you’re trying to be ok. I’ve let it slide for a while, cause I wasn’t sure. Now I feel like I know you better, I can see it. So stop. I’m here and I’ll listen or do whatever you need. You don’t have to be a self sacrificing soldier all the time.”

Katya mustered the energy to do a stupid little salute in the hopes of making Trixie laugh so she could go back to her show. Trixie stared her down instead, chastising her. 

“Alright, alright!” She exclaimed, putting her hands up like she was surrendering. She couldn’t decide whether she had already, or if it was an impossible feat, unaccomplishable. 

Trixie sat up properly, then, taking hold of her laptop and placing it on the floor beside her bed so she could snuggle down into her sheets, bringing Katya with her. They lay face to face, close but not too close so that Katya could see every detail of Trixie, see how she was checking her over, studying her to try and break down her walls. Katya was fixed in place, Trixie’s gaze insistent. It was charged too, like every time they were in such close proximity, but something was different this time. Katya couldn’t quite yet tell if she was angry. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I did.” Katya said, flatly, unable to resist pushing Trixie. 

It worked like a charm. Trixie sighed, her forehead wrinkling from how her brows scrunched together.

Trixie’s voice came out clipped, equally as toneless. “No you didn’t.” 

Katya schooled her features, purposefully didn’t react, kept regulating her breathing to keep calm, to ignore the heat pooling in her stomach. Trixie huffed before springing out of bed, pulling the covers off of Katya and throwing all the pillows onto the floor so that she was just on the mattress, head bouncing from the abruptness.

“What the—?” She began to ask, sitting up on her elbows and waving her hands uselessly in question. She wasn’t naked - she was wearing a tank top and her briefs - but, in that moment, she might as well have been for how Trixie was exposing her, how she looked down at her, hungry and fired up. 

“Lie down.” Trixie ordered. Katya shivered and felt herself stir, her cunt reacting instantly to their change in roles, the way Trixie stood with her hands on her hips, her feet apart in a dominant stance. Katya lay down. She stared at the ceiling, at the discolouration and the faint cracks in the paintwork. She, too, would crumble. She wanted Trixie’s touch so fucking much. 

-

5th May 2011

I’ve looked at Her in every mutation, in all Her embodiments, all Her outfits. I’ve detailed Her eyes, shrouded by an enticing mystery, not isolating or shut off. You can never see Her completely and portraying that has been thrilling so far. Because I’m the only one who can, everyone else will always be left wondering. That’s Her appeal. I can convince myself that that’s why it’s ok to sell Her.

Last night, something new happened. I’m surprised it hasn’t before but this felt like perfect timing and impeccably symbolic. I was painting Her as she stood before me, nude save for Her blonde hair tumbling to cover Her modesty like The Birth of Venus. She was giving me that brazen smile of Hers, the one I will never tire of capturing, and I was talking to Her about everything, really, about how the paint I was using wasn’t quite working in the way I was hoping but that I would make do, manipulate it with whatever method I had to. It was too wet, for some reason, or at least I saw it as such. 

She bit her lip, then, and walked over to the canvas. I stepped aside to put my brush and palette down. In that reprieve, She had backed up into the work so that the two of them became one. She beckoned me to Her but I had to bring myself to Her state first. I took all my clothes off, lifted Her off the easel onto the floor. There She lay, angelic but tempting, grabbing handfuls of Her own hair to move away from Her body, revealing Herself to me. And the pull...I couldn’t back away from it, turn around and leave Her - no, I could only get closer because that was predestined, it seemed, that I had no say in the matter and didn’t want one either. She was mine and I could only try and reach Her, like I had been trying and trying and trying for all these years. I wasn’t about to give up on Her. 

The canvas is six foot tall in length (it’s easier for me to paint big and minimise afterwards). She almost filled it all, so much so that I couldn’t determine where She began and my work finished, the already-feeble boundaries overlapping and diminishing themselves without my intervention. 

I knelt by Her feet, reached my hand out to caress Her ankle, feeling the absence of Her skin, the slipping paint instead, too oily to dry for a good while. I slid my hand further up, watching Her close Her eyes, tip Her head back. And then it was like something inside me sprung out, desperate to be released. I eased my body on top of Hers and writhed against Her, kissing Her smeared lips, spreading my fingers over the expanse of Her chest, over Her fucking gorgeous tits. I ached for more of Her dimensions, but it was enough to satisfy me, to get me so, so wet and thrusting my hips into Hers like I would get something back, too. It didn’t matter, nothing fucking mattered but Her.

By the time I came with my pussy rutting against my own wrist, She had gone and all that was left was the mess I had made.

Safe to say, I won’t be using that particular piece for my collection. But I’ll keep it all the same. It’s all I have.

KZ :-/

-

Katya heard the many rustles of material then the pad of Trixie’s feet on the floor, making the few steps to return to her bedside. She didn’t know whether she was allowed to look and it amused her, for a second, because she had never been the person to think like that. Truthfully, however, she would have been stupid not to realise how she had always been at Trixie’s mercy. 

Taking a deep breath, Katya raised her head to see Trixie holding all her ties from the silk robes behind her door. “Yes?” She checked simply and Katya nodded, arousal building within her. 

Trixie took a firm hold of Katya’s left hand and pulled it upwards towards the gaps in her rattan-style headboard. She wrapped the tie around her wrist then secured it around the pale oak. She took Katya’s left ankle and did the same, tying it a lot more shoddily to the leg of her bed frame and Katya smirked in the knowledge that she could get out of any of her restraints if she so wished, that Trixie, therefore, was a novice at this kind of thing. God, she was cute, even when she was trying to be fierce and withholding. Trixie shuffled to secure Katya’s right ankle, then finally crawled up the bed to sort out her other wrist until she was satisfied with what she’d arranged.

“What are you going to do to me?” Katya teased but it fell flat again, Trixie merely studying her face, coming to kneel at her side. The silence only served to build Katya’s anticipation further, until she became uncomfortable, Trixie just watching her, doing and saying nothing. She shifted in her position and grabbed on to the silky material just to have something to do with her hands. “Come on, Trix.” She prompted, when she thought the confines of her body might no longer be enough to contain her restiveness. 

Trixie sighed and stood. Katya’s stomach dropped, thinking she might leave her like that. Trixie went over to her vanity, where all her makeup was laid out. She was fresh faced, then, having taken everything off after work. Katya watched her looking at herself, fixing her hair, playing with the hem of her t-shirt, the airy cotton of her pajama bottoms, watched the object of her desire and the woman who thwarted all reason merely by existing feel her full figure, the weight of her own breasts, the softness of her own skin. 

“You’re beautiful, so beautiful.” Katya murmured. There was a lump in her throat. For the first time, she was tempted to tell Trixie everything, like the confessions were there, ready and waiting, and all they needed was a gentle tug out, a summoning. She shook her head as if to rid herself of the thought. Ridiculous. 

Trixie turned to face Katya, made sure her eyes were on her, then quickly stripped, not giving her a show but at least giving her the chance to take in her form as it was. Katya’s eyes tracked down her neck to the swell of her breasts. Her stomach was still bloated from the food they had eaten, rounder than usual, and Katya ached to kiss it, to run her hand lower, between her legs. Katya watched Trixie cross one leg over the other and cock her hip out to the side. That was the sign, she thought, that Trixie was about to truly make her succumb. 

“Keep your eyes on me the whole time. I’m going to eat you out over and over and you’re not going to do a thing to me. If I need to come, I’m going to fuck myself while I have my tongue on you and you’re not to say one word about it other than how good it feels and how lucky we are to have found each other. Got it?” Trixie’s gaze, stern and resolute, bore into Katya’s. All Katya could do was nod, for fear that words beyond a simple ‘yes’ would flood out of her.

By her fourth orgasm, Katya was well and truly destroyed, red and sweaty and clinging onto her flimsy restraints for dear life, the one tied on her left ankle having come away completely. Trixie barely gave her chance to come down before she dipped her head again, licking slowly and purposefully up to her clit, wiggling her tongue between her folds. 

“Oh my— I...” Katya cut herself off to squeal as Trixie applied too much pressure against her when she was still overly sensitive. Trixie moaned and finally took her hand, which she was holding onto Katya’s hip, down her own body. Katya followed her movements, watched on powerlessly as Trixie fingered herself, all the while tending to Katya just as proficiently. 

Trixie came in no time and the urge to beg to be freed, just so Katya could have her in her arms and soothe her by stroking up and down her back, was increasingly difficult to suppress. 

Once Trixie had regained some stability, she returned her full attention to Katya’s cunt, burying her face deep so her whole head bobbed up and down, her hair tickling Katya’s skin where it dragged against her. The both of them were quiet save for their soft moans and their ragged breaths and Katya briefly wondered how Trixie could manage to extract the _need_ to communicate from her. She wondered whether it would pass, once she’d come again and been given the time to rest, or whether it would only grow exponentially. She wondered just what the hell that would mean for her, when there was so much she couldn’t admit to. 

Katya climaxed for the fifth time that night, her whole body shaking and convulsing, so much so that she managed to pull her hands free from the silk ties without consciously trying. As soon as she had got her breath back, she gripped Trixie’s shoulders, silently pleading. Trixie wiped at her chin with the back of her hand then relented, coming to rest her cheek over Katya’s frantic heart, exhaling loudly from the effort of moving. Katya hugged her as close as she could get her. Her limbs felt like jelly, all loose and lifeless, yet she felt weighted too, like she would sink all the way down into the mattress soon enough and remain there forever, content and unneeded by the rest of the world. 

Trixie pressed a tender kiss to Katya’s shoulder, where the strap of her vest had fallen down in all her thrashing. Katya nuzzled into her hair and smelled her, kissing back wherever she could reach first. 

“So now, answer me honestly. What’s wrong?” Trixie’s voice was gravelly. It shouldn’t have sent an aftershock through her, but it did. Trixie defied the ordinary.

“Absolutely nothing now.” Katya huffed a laugh but she had learned her lesson. “It’s hard for me, I don’t know. Like...I don’t mean for it to come across like I don’t, uh, let you do things, that’s not the person I am and certainly not the person I want to be.” Katya closed her eyes, counted to five to steady herself. “You’re the woman I’ve always dreamed of so I, uh, don’t quite know how to behave. You said I’m human which, yeah, of course, but what if...what if I really am a monster? You don’t deserve to be let down or hurt like that.” 

Trixie raised her head so she could look right at her. A smile played upon her lips, the kind that shouldn’t have been there, really, but was nonetheless - the kind that came from an unchanging fondness. 

“You’ve not given me any true reason to believe you’re a monster. You’ve treated me so fucking well, better than anyone I’ve ever been with before. I get it, believe me when I say I get it, but I didn’t mean to make you think you weren’t letting me do stuff. It’s more...relationships are balanced, right? So I want to make sure everything’s equal because the last thing I’d want is for me to start resenting you for something that was just coming naturally to you.” Trixie lifted up so she could kiss Katya then, close mouthed but no less passionate than any other they had shared previously that day. 

“You need to keep me in check, then.” Katya quipped once they had parted and she had encircled her arms around Trixie once more. “No, just...let me know if I’m being a dick and I’ll try and not get too in my head.”

Trixie barked out a laugh. “Oh I will.” Katya squeezed her in response. “Am I really your dream woman?” Trixie asked straight after, like Katya’s disclosure had only just fully registered. 

Katya grimaced, pushed her face into the safety of Trixie’s hair, breathing her in. “You have no idea.” 

-

22nd June 2011

It’s all done. 

I finished my final design last night and I’m signing everything off this afternoon after meeting with Amy and the team at the office. I’ve not slept in roughly 71 hours so I’ve bumped some coke to keep me going until the end of the day. It’s really not as satisfying as I thought it would be because now it’s just a matter of waiting. The pieces will obviously take months to get right and that’s only the stuff being shown at fashion week. It’s just WEIRD or something, I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.

That’s what’s been making the rounds in my head and in my visions. Three words. So little to offer. 

Like me.

This week has just been one nightmare after the next, of imagining all the potential scenarios: I give my work in and it turns out it’s not what Gucci want, they reject it and I have to get together a whole new collection in a matter of days; I give my work in and it’s not what they want so they drop me completely; I give my work in but they want me to make this change and edit that and no that’s too vibrant, that’s too harsh; I give my work in but I’ve not done enough even though I’m sure I read and reread my contract and the conditions under my agreement a billion times so it all becomes void because I’ve not met the right terms; I give my work in and I’ve actually lost half of it; I give my work in and it’s all there and they’re perfectly happy with it but the manufacturers fuck it all up; I don’t give anything in and flee the country, never to be seen again. 

Jesus, I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m going to die.

KZ :-S

-

Katya sat outside Alfred Coffee on Melrose, waiting for Violet. It was early morning but the sun was strong and bright so Katya had to squint, even through the dark lenses of her black Pearls & Swine sunglasses. Her iced vanilla latte had copious beads of condensation dripping down the side. She never felt so akin to a fucking drink before. 

She had dressed down - it was too hot and too bothersome in her condition to think about how she looked - and was having a makeup free day. Katya’s face was shiny from the sunscreen she had remembered to apply. She had put on her trusty red trefoil Adidas shorts, white high tops and the black crop top she had worn more than anything else since moving. She was grateful, when Violet finally turned up, to see she was in something very similar. 

“Fuck me, you know it’s hot when I start dressing like a forty year old.” She exclaimed, gesturing towards Katya’s look.

Katya scream-laughed, a habit she’d picked up from Trixie. “You cunt!”

After getting her own iced coffee, Violet sat in front of her and Katya made a very conscious effort not to fidget, to act natural and pretend she wasn’t waiting for the right moment to present her storyline. 

The time came when Violet finished up talking about her packed schedule for the next month. “I have three days off in two weeks, basically, if you want to do anything? I’m booked up otherwise. Pearl’s not around either, super busy at the moment like Trixie, else I would have suggested we all meet up.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be glad to be rid of you.” She gave Violet one of her widest grins, to which she just rolled her eyes. “I’m actually going out of town for a while in a couple of weeks. Thought it would be a good chance while all the work’s going on downstairs to explore Joshua Tree or chill out in Palm Springs.”

“Ugh, lucky bitch. Think of me when you’re on your sun lounger, sweating at a fitting and no doubt having to show another newbie the ropes. I swear I should be paid extra for all the shit I have to tell the eighteen year olds. No common sense, no life experience.”

“You were just the same when I first met you.”

“Fuck right off, you have no idea how idiotic these _girls_ are!”

They spent another hour or so cackling and throwing insults at each other before hugging goodbye and heading off in opposite directions. 

Katya decided it was best to remain outside until it got too hot, putting her earphones in and walking all the way to Hollywood Forever Cemetery. She strode down Willoughby Avenue, stopping off roughly halfway to get a drink and some lunch at Tartine Sycamore. Once she reached her destination, sweating profusely and a little out of breath, she wandered amongst the graves and tried not to think too much about her own mortality and the miracle that she was somehow still living, if not entirely flourishing just yet. 

She was glad that she had told Violet she would supposedly be away. Now, she thought, there was less chance of Trixie finding out otherwise, if any chance at all. Trixie, who had been excited for Katya to get to Palm Springs, who had given her recommendations of where to eat and stay, who was, as always, so fucking wonderful. 

In front of Judy Garland’s grave, Katya read the inscription. “I’ll come to you, smiling through the years.” It was apt, she thought. 

-

1st August 2011

I’m sorry, my darling. I’m sorry, my love, my one. I’m so sorry. I’ve done this and I can’t overturn such a crime, only watch on as everything unravels before my eyes and you get made into something that doesn’t matter. You’re better than this. You were sent from beyond heaven, surely, to be with me and I’ve abused your presence. 

How could I be so fucking vile?

EVIL SCUM!!!!!

GUCCI X KATYA   
GUCCI X MUTILATOR

(I would cut out my heart for you. Please just come back and ask me. Please.)

KZ :’-(

-

“Have you got everything packed for tomorrow?” Trixie asked over her shoulder. She stood at the stove, frying strips of dried tofu in some flour and sesame seeds. She had a pan of black venus rice on the boil too and Katya watched her check everything with precision. Katya liked how she put her face right into the steam to see, how she managed to organise everything perfectly so each element of the meal was ready to assemble in faultless succession. 

Katya had got them some pomegranate kombucha to try and had purchased some pistachio mochi ice cream from Whole Foods too, which was currently sitting in Trixie’s jam packed freezer. One of her housemates had been finishing up in the kitchen when Katya had arrived and she was glad of the good timing, not in the mood to make small talk. She just wanted Trixie, some tasty food and to not let the feelings of revulsion rise up to her throat whenever she thought about the coming days. 

Over dinner, Katya asked what Trixie would be doing whilst she was gone, if she had any plans or if work was just as mental. She was genuinely interested like usual, undoubtedly, but she had to make sure she wouldn’t somehow run into her when out with her family. The fact that Los Angeles was over five hundred square miles didn’t have a chance of quelling her. 

“I actually have a day off on Wednesday, so I’ll see how I feel then. Might be too tired to even enjoy it, who knows. Then I’m out with Kim and the gang at Bob’s on Friday night. That’s all for now, really. Is this your way of making me say things around here will be dull without you?”

“Of course, you’ll be so bored without this motherfuckin’ _thrill_.” Katya posed in her seat, framing her face with her hand.

Trixie laughed with her mouth closed, mid chew. Katya planned to spend the night before leaving when Trixie did. Trixie thought she would be going home to pick up her bags and get driven to Palm Springs. Only the first part was true. 

“I’ll miss you, I guess.” Trixie teased.

“You guess?”

“You know I will.”

Katya smiled wider than she had since the last time she was with Trixie. Hearing such words, she couldn’t fathom it. It was glorious. “I’ll miss you too.”

They kissed, forgetting about their food to taste each other instead. Katya nosed at Trixie’s cheek, kissed across it to underneath her ear then back again to slide her tongue against hers. 

When they finally pulled apart again, their meal was cold but Trixie looked at Katya much more heatedly. Trixie fixed her hair, turned back to her plate and took a big bite. Katya neglected what was in front of her to keep her eyes on Trixie. 

“You better send me photos.” Trixie said before taking a swig of her drink. “I want to be able to pretend I’m there with you.”

_Fuck_. Katya hadn’t accounted for that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, hope you're all well and safe. Here's some phone sex and deception for your Thursday ;) As always, I love to know your thoughts. Enjoy!

9th February 2012

Two days. Two days until the show. I’m so fucking nervous but, at the same time, I know everything is being handled with the utmost precision and attention to detail, and that this is something my wildest dreams couldn’t even have thought up for me. The guilt has been assuaged, I think. For now, at least. I can’t deny I’m not entranced by the glitz and glamour of fashion week, and the total mayhem too. It appeals to my chaotic nature - and the narcissism only an artist can possess.

I met with all the models today. There were two, Violet and ‘Miss Fame’ (Jesus Christ…), who really stood out to me. I was lucky enough to be able to determine that Violet would open the show and Fame would close it. Violet has a pin-up style that I know is all the rage again and has been for a little while. There’s something about her, however, that really just fucking floors you. She’s not like anyone else I’ve seen and, damn it, she’s so fucking young yet so full of confidence. She comes across as rather conceited, though that’s definitely par for the course in this industry, and yet, surprisingly, I feel like we’re going to get along.

Fame is much more humble and put together, like she knows what a supermodel should do and say (like she’s studied it during every waking moment to get to this point) and thus emulates it all whilst seeming like she created the rule book in the first place. She’s warm and grateful and asks questions while looking straight at you as if she’s peering at a fountain of wisdom or something equally as important. She’s older than Violet but comes across much more youthful when she laughs or tells a dorky story. 

I felt like a fraud when she thanked me for the opportunity. She doesn’t need to thank me for anything, she’s the type that will excel because of her pure dedication. I’m the mistake, here, fumbling along.

The rest of the girls are what I’d call typical Gucci models. I didn’t mind not having a say in who walks for me because it’s not as if the type of women I would like to see down the runway would ever be casted, not in the near future anyway. I’m just glad full on heroin chic isn’t the look du jour anymore. That is something I wouldn’t ever want to be seen to endorse or encourage, or be associated with by default. 

I sat in the empty hall that Gucci has rented for the event to watch the run through. First, the models came down in their order, just in their own clothing and bare faces so they knew who was in what place and what movements were required. Then, there was the proper rehearsal, when I got to see how the clothes would look on animate people for the first time. It was different than being in on the fittings, than seeing the dresses on mannequins and the jumpers folded up, ready for inspection. 

Marco let me take the polaroids of all the models in their outfits to be pinned up by the garment bags on their racks, ready for Tuesday. Felice did all the writing and proper organisational shit. I was just glad to be of some use.

Just thinking about it, doing Violet’s was...an experience. I wish I’d taken some of her on my iPhone too, to study and see if, after removing myself from the interaction, the way she looked at me was the same as I saw myself. It was intriguing, to say the least. She posed very simply, as required, but her face told all her stories. It was ingenious, how she could convey so much in so little. It was like she knew she was The One, the star, and wanted to remind me of it. Yet...there was a hint of desire too. I’m sure. As if she wanted to play with me and for me to do the same, to see who would come out on top (ha).

I don’t know, maybe I’m thinking too much into it because most of the others were so much more restrained in their behaviour.

Anyway, I’ve got to try and sleep as tomorrow is another busy day. There’ll no doubt be some last minute panics. I’m just glad I decided not to do press myself, that everything will be fielded through Gucci’s PR and Frida. She’s the boss for a reason. 

Wow...The disbelief still hits me every now and then. I’ve told Her enough times to understand me. I think She does, I think we’ve moved past my initial disgust, got back to Her sitting beside me and me trying to pull Her in to me, to connect within and beyond the physical. 

I’m tired and not making sense to myself much anymore. God, how do people do this kind of work all the time? I’m beat! I think it’s in a good way, though...

KZ :-)

-

The wheels of Katya’s suitcase dragged along the sidewalk until they hit the smooth marble of the hotel’s lobby. She pushed her shades on to the top of her head and breathed a sigh of relief at the change of cool air as she walked up to the front desk to let them know she had arrived and would be staying with the Zamolodchikova party in the Ritz-Carlton suite. Her mom had already informed them, apparently, and she was free to go up to the room.

Dan had texted Katya around midday to tell her they had got there so she could set out and Shannon was due to fly in in time for dinner. As Katya stepped in the elevator, she let Dan know she was on her way up and then checked her appearance in the mirror. 

She looked good - fit and healthy and tanned and fed, and it was evident that her move had brought about innumerate positives. She was glad to be able to show her parents that their money had been well spent without having to actually explain all the ways she was continually bettering herself, which would only have reminded her of times she was eager to forget. 

She had made sure to pack outfits that her mom would appreciate (her dad couldn’t care less if she were to wear joggers or a ball gown), with a mix of new season and old favourites. That morning, after getting home from Trixie’s, she changed and shimmied on a vintage Jean Paul Gaultier strappy sundress from the nineties. It was red, made from a sheer material with a charming pattern of yellow, purple and orange flowers. Underneath it, she had put on a contrasting floral print t-shirt, and had slipped on her Valentino studded flats to complete the look, along with her statement sunglasses from Pearls & Swine again. 

Almost as soon as Katya knocked on the door to the suite, it was flung open and there was her brother. Just as ordinary looking, just as warm and comforting, wrapping her up in a tight hug that felt like coming home. 

“Look what the Katya dragged in!” Dan proclaimed as he held her at arm’s length to give her the customary once over, repeating a line she thought, at one time, she would never hear again. It was cheesy and lame and definitely tired by now, but she cackled nonetheless, too delighted to make a show of protestation.

“Hey, Danny dickhead.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then sought out her parents, who were stood, waiting patiently, behind her brother, arms around each other and beaming at her like they were witnessing the second coming of Christ. Katya rushed over to them, immediately sinking into their joint embrace and laughing at them seemingly seeing who could plant the most kisses on her forehead. She barely registered Dan taking a picture, too intent on cherishing the precious moment of reunification. 

“Oh, darling, you look incredible. It’s so, so good to see you.” Her mom said once she and Katya’s father had finally eased off their assault of affection. “It feels like an eternity since we were waving you off at Logan Airport!”

Katya turned to lean against the solid stature of her dad, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He was in a simple polo shirt and slacks and she was grateful he didn’t make the stupid decision to wear one of his many blazers like she would always see him in back home, even in the summer months. “Honestly, it’s like a lifetime and two seconds ago all at once.”

“That’s what happens when you get old.” Dan chimed in, tapping away on his phone.

After a catch up and a tour of the suite (which boasted unparalleled views of the city, of the surrounding mountains and even the ocean as that day was perfectly clear, not a cloud in the sky), Katya was left for five minutes peace to unpack and get ready to head out. 

Her first port of call, however, was to message Trixie. She had racked her brains during her ride back to her place about what the hell she would do, evidently unable to provide her with any proper photos. She decided upon taking one of herself in the room, reasoning that Trixie wouldn’t think twice about it not being the hotel she had told her she was at - she hadn’t been to it and most hotel suites looked the same, anyway. She stood in front of one of the many mirrors, checked there were no revealing reflections, then snapped one silly picture and one which was a little sexier, showing her gathering the hem of her dress at her hip and sticking her leg out à la Angelina Jolie. 

“Hey baby, me and my expensive legs (close to $750 worth, right?!) arrived safe and sound. It’s beautiful here, much more remote than I imagined. I’m not going to have my phone on me much as I feel the need to properly disconnect and be with myself and all that eat pray love shit. Hope you understand. I’ll text you good morning and good night, of course. Be good without me ;) Miss you already, dream woman.” Katya looked over her message, satisfied. It was manipulative, for sure, to slip in that phrase, but she needed something to keep Trixie sweet.

She took one last look at their thread then stuffed her phone away in her bag and vowed not to think about how awful a person she was, hanging up her clothes instead and listening to the conversations floating through from the lounge area, the voices of her loved ones dulling the spike of hatred threatening to pierce her side. 

Katya spent the rest of the afternoon showing her parents and Dan around the arts district, popping into Hauser & Wirth to look at the current exhibition and to visit the chicken pen. Katya was reminded of Fame and her childhood on her family farm, looking after chickens and talking to them about her ambitions to get to New York and be the world’s next Linda Evangelista. She made sure to be extra loving with her words as she reached a finger out to stroke over a particularly friendly chicken’s feathers. 

They stopped for coffee at Urth Caffé once Shannon texted to say she was in a cab and would meet them in the hotel lobby at seven to go to dinner. Katya’s mom had booked a table at Pacific Dining Car and, though it was a restaurant Katya would never have gone for herself, the novelty of eating fancy steak in a railcar with her family wasn’t at all something she would turn her nose up at. Rather, she was thankful for any time with them, no matter the activity or destination. 

Back in the room, Katya resisted checking her phone until she had changed and scooped her hair into a messy top knot, swiping her trusty NARS across her lips. The pink, asymmetric Helmut Lang slip skirt she wore reminded her of Trixie (she had bought it for that very reason) and it didn’t help that she styled it with the brogues and slogan t-shirt she had chosen when she first met Trixie for brunch. 

Katya saw she had twenty notifications from her. She turned her phone off and went back to her family.

-

12th February 2012

VIOLET AND I FUCKED HAHAHAHA

Ok, that’s not the most important thing to be writing right now seeing as MY FUCKING COLLECTION WAS ON THE GUCCI RUNWAY and VOGUE WROTE A GLORIOUS ARTICLE ABOUT IT and I WENT TO A FUCKING GUCCI AFTER PARTY. 

But, to be honest, I’m on an almighty comedown and I’m hungover beyond belief and Violet only just left (I wasn’t going back to her model apartment, that’s for sure) and wow I think I’m still high!

I’ve not stopped since early Tuesday morning, I’ve barely eaten, I’ve talked to so many people that my throat is red raw and my feet might as well be chopped off now, for all the use they’ll be to me the next few days - blisters galore! Heels are evil but Marco got me some beauts to wear to the show, to dinner and the party. The first were a plain black pair of open toed booties from the upcoming collection, which I customised at the last minute by hot gluing a load of multi-coloured rhinestones onto them. Bianca would have approved (I think). The second were from the archives, from the early 00s - some black leather ankle wrapped pumps with pointed toes. Didn’t need to touch those up one bit, they looked BADASS. 

Ha! I’m, like, legitimately ten years older than Violet but when she made eyes at me backstage, looked me up and down and saw what I was wearing, I knew I had her. Such a strange thing to have been thinking about - occupied by - during such a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I guess her distraction reminded me not to be so serious and caught up in myself. I don’t know. 

Maybe I needed something to delay myself from confronting the fact that the face of my hallucinations is out into the world for all to see, that I could be found out at any moment. They let a crazy person collaborate with Gucci! Frida would flip. Or somehow spin it in her favour.

It was beyond bizarre to have photographers clamour for the perfect shot of Violet and Fame and the rest, stomping down the runway with Her on their slender frames. Fame asked me what my favourite piece was yesterday. I love the t-shirts - they’re so easy to wear but equally a bit ‘off’, a little different to add flare to a staple outfit. I love it all, of course. The shirt dress with the ribbon tie at its exaggerated collar...that’s the real stunner. Not only because of the sheer amount of colour I could get away with using, but because of the contrasting cuffs and the prim and proper style of it, which doesn’t at all fit with the nature of the artwork itself. 

I’m so proud of that piece, of depicting Her with Her bright yellow hair pulled back from Her face, it flowing behind Her to emphasise the long and dangling earrings She has, made of daisies. She came to me like that once, just wearing much less. On the dress, She has a nuts rainbow striped top and a mustard tartan skirt and there’s a hand that has a hold of one of Her arms, taking it from Her like She’s just a doll made of removable parts. 

I wore it to the Gucci dinner (thank fuck I didn’t spill anything down it) with bright yellow tights and big plastic daisies shoved in my hair but I changed for the after party to keep it pristine. I put on one of the black t-shirts and tucked it into a feathered skirt from the Fall ready-to-wear collection. 

Hours later, Violet was on her knees in a toilet cubicle with her head up that very skirt. So fucking good…

She gave me her number before she went home. I’m going to see her for another hook up. I just need at least a day to recover from everything before it all starts up once more. 

Will I ever get time again?

KZ :-D

-

Katya got into bed after way too much filet mignon and cheesecake, and let herself look at her messages in order to keep up the promise she had made. On the one hand, she couldn’t have gone without talking to Trixie completely (she would have missed her far too much) but, on the other, it made it harder for her to pretend she wasn’t being such a hideous deceiver. 

She smiled, despite the disgrace she felt, when reading the string of texts Trixie had sent throughout the day. The first one told her she understood, that she would miss her, but it would definitely make when they saw each other again even hotter than usual. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Katya thought as she burrowed further down under her covers.

The rest were the typical kind of messages Trixie sent, complaining about work or sharing what she had for lunch - simple inanities that Katya cherished, one by one. She quickly fired off her reply, trying to respond to as much as possible in one big block. She didn’t mention what she had done (how could she?) but reassured Trixie that she was having a lovely time and couldn’t wait to be with her, to kiss her until her lips were red raw and stroke her back until she fell asleep.

In the morning, Katya woke early, squeezed in a quick half an hour of yoga and then put on her shorts, sports bra and tank top, ready for breakfast before a hike up to the Hollywood sign. Shannon, remembering Katya had done it recently, asked if she would prefer to take them all somewhere else, but she was happy to be active, admire the sights once more and just _be_. Katya was lucky that she came from such a fitness orientated family - everyone kept up with everyone else, which meant that they could all talk together.

About halfway to the top, Shannon asked the questions she had been waiting for. “So, you’ve not said a word about Trixie yet, I’m dying over here! What’s she like? When will we get to meet her?”

“Yeah, spill the beans, dish the dirt. Well, maybe not the second one.” Dan pretended to grimace and their mom playfully punched his arm. 

Katya, holding her dad’s hand, the both of them a couple of steps ahead so they could all fit on the path, glanced at him to find him smiling in that way he did when he was happy with a choice she had made, one side of his mouth upturned more than the other. 

“The sex is amazing, brother dear!” She bellowed, causing the rest of them to groan, Shannon covering her face with her hands. Katya and her mom burst out laughing first, the rest of them joining in soon after. “She’s...well, she doesn’t let me get away with any shit, she’s funny and hard working and principled, and so caring, too. Remember what I told you about her mom?” Everyone nodded. “It’s, uh, it’s like I’ve, uh, known her all my life.”

Her dad squeezed her hand. “That says it all.” He gave her another squeeze and Katya squeezed back in agreement. 

Once they reached the top and had snapped photos like proper tourists, her mom asked to see a picture of Trixie. Katya was relieved to have been so prepared. If Trixie thought it odd to have had so many taken of her recently when they had just been at home doing nothing, she hadn’t said, had probably appreciated it and preened. 

Katya pulled up her ‘favourites’ album, the specific photos she had hearted just for this moment, interspersed amongst a few sunset shots and pictures from Malibu beach and Echo Park so it didn’t seem suspicious. Her family gathered around her to see. She selected one she had taken after Trixie had done her skin care routine one morning. She had been at her window, adjusting her curtain so it fell straight and unwrinkled, and the sunlight had hit her face so beautifully. Her skin had been glowing even more than usual and Katya was blinded by it, overcome. She had still been in bed herself but had sat up and called out Trixie’s name. When Trixie looked at her and her whole expression softened, Katya had taken a photo before beckoning her over, pulling her down and kissing her lip balm right off. It tasted of honey. 

Listening to the gushes from her mom and sister and the comical whistle from Dan, Katya stared at the woman looking straight at the camera. She didn’t even have to try to imagine the taste of her, mixed with her balm - it all flooded back like Trixie was with her right there and then. Katya was thankful for the distraction of everyone’s comments and questions. She was in the same damn city as her and yet she hadn’t felt this separated from her since…

“It’s such a shame she had to work all this time.” Shannon whined like she used to when they were teenagers. The youngest sibling syndrome never went away, Katya thought, focussing on that instead of the unsteady increase of her heart rate. “You’re both invited to come to Portland whenever you want, y’know. It’d be great to have you stay.”

“Thank you, of course. I’ll let her know and we can sort it out.” Katya heard herself say.

They got back to walking, Katya linking her arm with her dad’s once more. He hadn’t said much about Trixie and Katya worried he’d seen her for who she really was - who she had been. As they began to make their descent, he cleared his throat. “It would be wonderful to meet her sometime. Your mom and I wouldn’t mind making another trip when Trixie’s less busy or I’m happy to fly you both out to Boston, if she’d like a little holiday.”

Katya smiled, knowing how much Trixie would hate having anything like that paid for on her behalf. “That’s sweet, dad, I appreciate it. I’m sure there’ll be a right time soon.” 

By midday, they had reached Griffith Observatory just in time for opening. Katya knew it was better up there around sundown but it made sense to take a couple of trails from the Hollywood Sign. It was getting scorching hot out and Katya was thankful they had all remembered to bring their refillable bottles. She could barely resist the childish temptation to douse herself with her water.

While her family wandered around and took in the views of the expansive horizon, Katya checked her messages, having not got round to replying to Trixie earlier in the morning. She took a selfie from a low angle, the sun behind her, so only the sky and her sweaty face was visible, sending it with her responses and a string of hearts and kissy face emojis. Trixie wouldn’t be on her break for another hour or so, Katya mused, quashing the desire to be with her in that moment, the sadness that she had been waiting all her life to have someone stable by her side to meet her parents and siblings. Now she had the right person, it was all the more harder because of the wrong kind of history between them. Theirs was not a story she could tell and, while Trixie might have taken some pleasure in recalling their first meeting in that hotel bathroom to her friends (and whoever else would listen), Katya couldn’t reconcile having a completely different timeline of their relationship. 

Katya led the way to The Trails, a tiny cafe in a hut at the foot of all the hills, for thickly stuffed sandwiches and peach and blueberry pie, before taking everyone to the Museum of Death. 

“Hey, you said you wanted the full Katya-in-LA experience, here it is!” Katya exclaimed when Dan protested her choice, claiming only psychos wanted to learn about other psychos. 

The rest of the afternoon was taken up by wandering Hollywood Boulevard and gossiping about Jerry and Suzanne and their wayward son, and listening to Dan’s many stories about the baby. In those moments, Katya could feel some sense of normality. It was bliss, just like ignorance.

-

14th February 2012

Fame and I attended a Vogue dinner tonight and I brought Violet as my plus one. She’s fresh on the scene so not on many lists yet but I think that will change after this season. She’s been photographed more than any of us, and rightly so. She turned out a fucking look tonight and made most of it herself. 

Fame and I were representing Gucci so we were loaned some items. Fame settled on a gorgeous flapper style dress, which she said if she bought it she would cherish it her entire life, especially as it’s something that will never go out of style, timeless in its recognisable period statement. I put on the blouse that Carolina wore down the runway with some tit tape and a vintage red sequin Commes des Garçons skirt. The star of the outfit was the clutch bag I had had made (thank fuck it was ready just in time) in the shape of a forearm and hand. Y’know, cause clutch. HAHAHA! I make myself laugh, ok.

Now I’ve had a bit of sleep and gotten used to the events of the fashion world a little more, I could enjoy myself and could feel excited about meeting so many famous names and legends within the industry. Celebrities (actors, musicians etc) were there too but I kept to my circle and only ventured out when I was approached first. A surprising amount had heard about me and were desperate for some of my pieces, which was very flattering, so I tried my best to take it all in my stride. Fame commented how lovely it was that, even after years, now, of being an artist and after liaising with Gucci, I was still in a constant state of disbelief. I said lovely wasn’t the word I’d use - exhausting, more like - but she helped me see the positives. 

(I didn’t drink too much and I didn’t take anything beyond some weed before I left my place. I’m glad I had the previous day to sweat everything out. I don’t know how my body copes with me.)

It’s just a shame Jen has moved to Paris. We won’t be showing there. Working for YSL beats seeing my lil’ collection, though, so props to her. I’m still going to send her whatever she wants.

Marco kept telling me what a hit it all was all night and Frida even came up to me to congratulate me and thank me for my collaboration. That was a true HOLY SHIT moment, like I was being blessed by Mary, mother of God herself! 

Dinner was delicious, of course, and the only time Violet was actually with me, too busy being fawned over by fuck knows who. I got to know her better, then, Fame opposite us in the middle of Marco and Gia from IMG, deep in non-stop conversation. Violet was born in Atlanta and had enrolled at SCAD but was scouted and swiftly moved to New York. Her inspirations come from Bettie Page, Vampira, John Willie’s Bizarre magazine and fetish mixed with vintage glamour. It’s a powerful combination and I told her how refreshing it was to hear someone so young with such a clearly envisioned style that doesn’t just come from the runways or what a celebrity endorses. Violet said that runways will always inspire her, and designers such as Mugler and Dior and Galliano have been her obsession since she could remember, but that looking at the past helps bring clarity to the future, to where she hopes to elevate her aesthetics even further. 

I didn’t invite her back but we made out in the street before we got our separate cabs home and we texted, just now, to see if our schedules align over the next few days. I feel like a teenager again. And decidedly not like Michele might have felt (or not felt) with me, thank you very much. I’m evidently still not over all that...

We’ve got two more days of madness before the end of NY Fashion Week. I’m seeing the Jeremy Scott, Anna Sui and Vivienne Tam shows tomorrow and then Ralph Lauren, L’Wren Scott and Calvin Klein shows on Thursday. Vivienne has invited me to a soirée - I can’t wait to meet her even if just to flail at her over how much I love her Mao dress and how that whole collection was fucking groundbreaking to me - and there are a few other parties that I’m going to consider.

For now, every experience I have seems new. I looked around, tonight, and wondered if everyone else felt the same.

KZ :-)

-

The days flew by, quicker than Katya expected. She made sure to check her phone every morning and smiled wider each time when she saw Trixie only sent more and more messages, not at all discouraged by Katya’s absence. Katya sent her selfies plus a saucy underwear shot from a cafe toilet cubicle when Trixie complained that she wanted Katya’s pussy in her face ‘like, yesterday’. 

It was Friday evening when things really heated up. Katya’s parents were out shopping, Dan and Shannon were at the rooftop pool (or, more accurately, the rooftop poolside bar), so Katya had a couple of hours to herself before their final dinner out. She had planned on ringing Bobby and checking up on the progress, but he had emailed her photos and a video walk through earlier that afternoon so she was satisfied. Trixie had messaged, saying she was about to get ready to go to Bob’s and that everyone missed her and wished she was there too. When Katya replied nearon instantly, Trixie took advantage.

“Can’t decide what to wear.” She wrote and Katya watched the three grey dots impatiently. “Can you help me please?” 

“Sure.” She replied, tapping out a random rhythm on her bare thigh to keep her occupied whilst Trixie no doubt took some photos. Her screen went black then lit up after a few seconds with two notifications.

Trixie had sent two pictures of herself posing in her wardrobe mirrors. Katya’s mind instantly darted back to the memory of her fucking Trixie, the both of them staring at their reflections in total rapture. 

The first was of her in white jeans, the ones which made her ass look so fucking peachy that Katya wanted to take a bite whenever she wore them. She had a boxy, sky-blue cropped t-shirt on top, which showed off a couple of rolls of fat over her waistband and had a cute rainbow stitched over her right boob. She stood tall in some summery wedges with her hand on her hip, her blonde hair tousled over one shoulder to show off her white geometric earrings. 

In the next, she posed almost identically, this time wearing her favourite pink mini skirt and a colour coordinating loose flanel, open low at the chest to reveal her bra. Katya’s mouth went dry.

“THE SECOND ONE.” She typed out as soon as she could function enough to move her fingers over her screen. 

“Thought you might say that. Are you not worried all the dykes at the bar will be staring at my tits?”

Katya swallowed. “As long as they look but don’t touch…”

“What if I let them? Would you be mad?” Trixie knew just how to wind her up. They’d had the conversation, of course, that they wouldn’t see other people now they were official - not that either of them had done, or had even thought of doing, before. Still, Katya flushed and took a fistful of her sheets in a vice-like grip. 

“You wouldn’t dare, baby, and you know it.”

“I know it. Are you in your room?”

Katya’s heart beat faster. “Yeah.” She waited again, the three dots taunting her now as she began to sweat, kicking off the covers. She had stripped off as soon as she had gotten in, leaving on only her underwear. 

Another picture popped up. Trixie, same pose, same position, just completely naked. “Oh my—” Katya choked out aloud to herself. The emptiness of her room was both a blessing and a curse. 

“So?” Trixie prompted.

“SO, you better believe that as soon as I’m home I’m going to find you, strip you on the spot so you look just as fucking delectable as this and fuck you so hard the whole neighbourhood will hear that you’re mine. I’m going to make you scream from my fingers deep inside you and you’re never going to think about another woman’s hands on you ever again. Got it?”

Katya felt her wetness drip down between her ass cheeks where she lay, eyes transfixed on that damn photo. She didn’t have long until her parents would be back and, as much as she wanted to drag her phone sex experience out, she was running out of time. She was also fucking desperate to come. 

“Fuck, I got so wet just from reading that.” Trixie replied. “Can I touch myself?” 

_She asked permission_ , Katya’s brain almost short circuited as she shoved her hand down her briefs, feeling how slick she was. “Won’t you be late?” Katya forced herself to type with her other hand, her phone balancing precariously.

“I don’t care. I need to get off.”

“Me too. Massage your clit to start, imagine I’m there with you, licking your pussy just the way you like it.” 

Katya did the same to herself, moaning unabashedly as she began to rub up and down the sides of her hood. She then progressed to making small circles, increasing the pressure she applied and picturing Trixie in her room with her clothes strewn about the floor, her naked body on top of her sheets. Katya imagined her how she had seen her so many times before, head tilted towards her shoulder and buried in her plush, pink pillows; one hand fondling her nipple, the other moving over her mound. 

“It won’t take long for me, I’m so fucking horny without you here.” 

Katya exhaled roughly through her nose, quickening her pace. “You’ll just have to make sure you fuck yourself nice and hard then.” She wrote out before dropping her phone on her chest, grabbing her breast and trailing her fingers up and down her fluttering stomach. She brought her other fingers further towards her entrance to gather her wetness, bringing it up to her clit so she could slide against herself seamlessly, there barely any friction. She noticed her screen light up but she was too far gone, thinking of Trixie’s fingers on her own pretty pussy. 

She came with a muffled shout, flinging her arm out like she used to when Trixie would disappear on her as her high wore off.

Once she calmed down and washed her hands, she read through the string of curse words and proclamations of adoration and questions about her own orgasm with a smirk. Katya told Trixie how good it felt when she imagined her but how it was a million times better to actually have her near, to feel her and taste her and hear her sighs and moans in her ear. 

They continued to text whilst Katya got ready. She showered as quickly as she could so she could keep their conversation going but took much longer choosing her outfit (a white Jean Paul Gaultier dress with a quirky hieroglyphic print, handkerchief hem and a draped, slash neck), too distracted by Trixie’s jokes. 

She said an early goodnight to her once her parents had come back, putting her phone away for the rest of the evening. 

The five of them met in the lobby to get an Uber over to experience Table 500 at Republique, a French restaurant with excellent reviews that Katya was all too happy to try upon Shannon’s request. When they were brought to their table, she was relieved that it was traditional - different parties all squashed together on long benches, just as she had loved in Paris. It helped her guilt. She didn’t think she could bear having the empty sixth spot cleared away by an unassuming waiter, just doing his job.

-

22nd February 2012

We arrived in Milan last night. My request for Violet to come too, and for Fame to be put in the same hotel as us, was approved last minute (typical) but Violet had prepared for this kind of opportunity for years, so she was able to pack in record time and dash to the airport with me, meeting Fame there. The three of us were bumped up to first class when I mentioned Frida. I think Violet likes me even more after that.

We had a champagne breakfast, made use of the airline's supposed luxuries and managed to get to the Camera Nazionale della Moda Italiana’s opening dinner on time. At the hotel, I had been given a note saying I could wear something from the Ready To Wear collection so, quick as a flash, I picked my favourite dress - long, black and sheer with voluminous cuffed sleeves and a low v-neck, detailed with sequined leaves which crawl up the neck to form a fittingly gothic version of an oriental style collar. To die for.

I managed to literally bump into Anna Wintour in the entrance hall which was as mortifying and terrifying as expected but she didn’t order for me to be removed from the event or, I don’t know, be killed so that’s all I can ask for, given the circumstances (yes I had taken something, no I wasn’t completely off my tits, yes Violet was none the wiser). 

It wasn’t too late of an affair, thankfully, as the next fews days are jam packed. I retired at one and dozed off and when Violet came in a couple of hours later we fucked then fell asleep straight after. The Gucci show is at two today. I’m glad to be able to wear my collection again, show it off to a whole new crowd. I’m going to put together the white t-shirt with the design that, to me, is like an evolved version of The Deconstructed Bride, with the black pencil skirt that has the giant, creepy ‘faceless family portrait’ on it. I’ve got this hair hat thing that Charlie Le Mindu did for me which Violet hates with a passion but Fame said she can appreciate as an admirer of his work, which I thought was diplomatic and rather adorable of her. I’ll probably put that on too, piss off anyone who has the pleasure of sitting behind me. 

We’re seeing Alberta Ferretti afterwards then attending the Vogue Italia dinner and the Gucci afterparty. 

Day one of five - let’s do this.

KZ :-)

-

Katya unlocked her front door, lugged her suitcase behind her, dumped it in her entryway and made a beeline for the sofa, collapsing on it as if she really had just come back from a proper trip and not West Olympic Boulevard. She had naively forgotten how exhausting it was to lie all the time and, as much as she was sad to see her family leave, she was content to have things go back to normal. Well, as normal as anything could ever be with someone like her.

Once she’d lazed about a bit and caught up on messages, making sure to tell Trixie she was home and that she was looking forward to seeing her that night, she ambled outside to check her mailbox. The front of it wasn’t properly shut and she laughed to herself because she never got mail usually, but as soon as she wasn’t around she was suddenly Miss Popular. She tugged it open to find a package amongst some credit card statements and adverts. She recognised Trixie’s looped handwriting right off the bat and hurried inside with the box under her arm. 

Tearing at the cardboard, she turned it over. It was a Barbie, a Barbie that looked very much like Katya (by total accident as it was actually a model of Victoria Silvstedt, Playmate of the Year 1997) and who held a note from Trixie in her tiny plastic hands, welcoming her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration for Katya's collaboration with Gucci in this story is drawn from their collab with Unskilled Worker a few years ago. Of course, Katya's artwork is more sinister and dark than hers... Here's a link all about it with pics of the collection too: https://www.vogue.co.uk/gallery/gucci-collaboration-unskilled-worker-gallery-full-collection


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. I hope you're all well and safe. I'm currently sat in the sunshine on my balcony, writing and writing and writing. I broke 100k words yesterday so I'm pretty damn pleased with myself. I hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> Also, I've made a tumblr https://halfofwhatyouare.tumblr.com if anyone is interested in following me there. It's a bit bare right now and it's my secondary account so I don't think I can follow anyone back?? Idk how it works lmao anyway, come say hi if you'd like :)

“Tell me something.”

They were walking along Santa Monica Boulevard, hand in hand, past the Rodeo Drive walk of style, having just visited Spadena House at Katya’s insistence, claiming she was missing the witchy things in life. Its wonky tiled roof and off-yellow exterior was almost as charming as the little wooden bridge over the pond in its garden. Katya liked the old brown window shutters that didn’t seem to match up with some of the sizes of the windows, how the chimney looked like an underbaked cake gone wrong and how the sign telling visitors not to pick the berries was mysteriously signed off by ‘the witch’. Katya had taken copious amounts of photos for her instagram stories and a few lovey-dovey couple selfies for her own private gallery, to smile at like a fool whenever Trixie wasn’t with her.

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on top of them. Trixie was wearing an adorable straw sunhat, wide brimmed with a pink bow around it to match the cotton dress she had on. As soon as she had laid eyes on her, Katya had commented how she looked like candyfloss, just ready to be eaten up. Trixie had mimicked throwing up but the grin on her face gave away how flattered she was. 

“What do you want to know?” Katya asked as she squinted to see across the road where pristine beige buildings stood behind neat rows of palm trees, where Alexander McQueen and Hermès were situated and tourists flocked to (window) shop. 

“Nuh-uh, it’s gotta come from you.” 

Amongst everything else playing on her mind, Katya had also realised she hadn’t told Trixie about her and Violet. Perhaps it wasn’t the right moment, as they were on their way for brunch at The Abbey like stereotypical LA lesbians, but she knew Trixie deserved to know something like that. Besides, it was easier to offload than the countless other confessions she could have potentially made instead.

“Ok.” She glanced to her side to see Trixie watching her with curiosity, the pale pink lenses of her sunglasses light enough to enable Katya to study every flicker of her gaze. “Ugh, this...I’m actually— I don’t know how you’ll take this.” She looked down to her feet, inspecting the flecks of dirt on her Converse with each step she took. 

Trixie shook their clasped hands from side to side. “Well now you’re scaring me!”

“No, it’s nothing _bad_ , really, but—”

“Oh my god, just tell me before you get all cryptic and shit.” Trixie interrupted. 

Katya winced as she spoke. “Violet and I, we used to— we were never really together, but we’d been kinda like on and off friends with benefits. Obviously that wasn’t the case when we lived in different places and it stopped as soon as I met up with you and then she met Pearl too and fell hard and fast, by the way, I’ve never seen her be like how she is with Pearl, it’s quite a miracle. Anyway...yeah.”

Trixie’s beloved demonic bird noise laugh rang out along the street, passersby craning their necks to see just what made such a racket. “You and _Violet_? Mama, that’s not what I was imagining at all, oh my god!” She cackled again and Katya braved turning to her, to see her fling her head back in glee. “Was she keeping you young and virile?” 

Katya joked back, “Bitch she turned this rugged corpse _around_.” 

Trixie shook her head. “Seriously? What the hell! I need all the details on this because, no offense, but you could practically be her mom.” 

“No ten year old has a kid, Miss Country-Bumpkin! I know sex-ed isn’t really a thing in Wisconsin but jeez, at least do the math.”

They both burst out laughing again. “Ok, read me to filth, thanks, now give me the full story, else my disdain for that model whore will come back with a vengeance.” 

“Well, we met in New York, like you know, and she was new to the city and modelling and, I don’t know, she gave me a few looks here and there and I was being such a lesbian about it, but we went to a dinner together and got to talking and I was interested in her.” Katya shrugged and watched Trixie’s expressions evolve, not looking where she was headed. They could have walked past The Abbey two miles ago and she wouldn’t have noticed. Katya didn’t like the crease in Trixie’s forehead - it often led to more questions, the search for a distinct conclusion. “She had a perspective on fashion that was equal parts challenging and in agreement with mine and her knowledge of niche fetish scenes or old Hollywood starlets opened my eyes to beyond what was overwhelming me at that moment.”

“What do you mean?” 

“It was tiring, being so up and down, pushed and pulled this way and that. New York and being an artist with some sort of recognition - some days it would mess me up and some days it would be like I was in Alice in Wonderland or whatever.”

Trixie nodded, holding onto Katya tighter. “You don’t like talking about that time, do you?”

“No.” Katya admitted, trying to find something else to fixate on beyond the deepening conversation between them. “Anyway, Violet and our friend Fame— we soon all got close. Fame was able to see all the bright sides to my insecurities and Violet, yeah, I suppose she did keep me tethered to youth.”

“I knew it!” Trixie interjected, nudging Katya’s arm in a show of playful affection.

“We’d see other people whenever the chance cropped up. Violet became very in demand the year after we met, travelled the world, fucked people richer or more famous or younger and sexier than me, but perhaps because of convenience or because we had that shared experience, we always ended up back in bed together at some point down the line. More than anything, though, I got such a good friend in her. That was always number one. So when I moved here, we went out together, we kissed, I went to see her at fashion week, of course, but then you came along. And you need to know that what we have is completely different to mine and Violet’s relationship. I would hate for you to feel like she was or is a threat or something. She’s, uh, important to me as a friend but you’re...you’re my dream woman, remember?”

-

February 28th 2012

I just about made it onto the flight home. The three of us are all sitting together again, thankfully. I don’t think I could handle having a stranger next to me right now, having to pretend I’m just a nervous flier, not on a massive comedown. I’ve managed to convince Violet I’m unwell (stomach bug) so she’s sitting next to Fame, and Fame is next to me. She’s been watching me closely all morning. She isn’t so dense as to believe my fairy tales, especially not when she saw me. 

Fuck, she saw me. 

Yesterday was a suitably crazy end to such a crazy week. Whoever thought starting the Marni shows at 9:30 was a good idea needs slapping. Still, we were there. Only a few minutes late. 

We had time for a rushed lunch and a change in the car before we sat second row for D&G (thank God I managed to find that vintage oversized coat last month) and then it was another quick ride to the Missoni show. I took the coat (which I had belted at the waist so it could function as a dress) off and underneath I was wearing a black polo neck and a red and white off the shoulder knit dress from the Missoni Spring/Summer collection, with fringe detail at the knee length hem. We swapped out our accessories in our bags, which made us all laugh, then hopped out into the madness. Violet and Fame were a while having their photos taken but I avoided what I could and waited for them inside, after having powdered my nose…

Then it was the Missoni dinner. Violet had to go walk for Salvatore Ferragamo and Fame was on a different table to me, so I was left to fend for myself. Having had the comfort of my new friends for the majority of Fashion Week, it was a shock to the system. So, of course, I got absolutely fucked. I wasn’t the only one - and I won’t name names - but I’m embarrassed. I couldn’t help it. I was transported back to being at college and taking something just to be able to say hello to someone new. I thought things had changed since then. I guess I’m still the scared little girl just wishing someone would see through her lies. 

A model offered me more coke - which was actually Ketamine, silly thing - before we were all due to have cocktails so I said yes and that was a big mistake because then I started to see Her. She was my plus one, She wore the dress that reminded me of a Van Gogh painting, the only dress in the entire Missoni collection that held any sort of merit, in my opinion, but that’s another matter. She passed through Franca Sozzani like a ghost and it was bizarre. I’m sure Franca wondered why the hell I was laughing at her but I wasn’t! I wasn’t! I was laughing at myself.

The event was in a grand, old house, typically Italian and one which one of the family members is living in at the moment. I forget which Missoni. Anyway, I wandered around the place, following Her lead. That night, She kept venturing to the balconies and looking out over the city as if She was in a state of reflection. Her bare feet didn’t make a sound on the wooden floors (of course they didn’t) but Her hair blew in the breeze from the open windows. 

She led me to what I assumed was the master bedroom, at the end of a winding corridor, deserted but for us. Out through the dressing area and giant sliding doors was an elevated patio with iron chairs and a table with a large vase of freshly picked flowers. She bent down to smell them so I did the same. Lush.

She went to the stone balustrades, resting Her elbows against the ledge. I followed, copied her position and looked down to the drop, to the secluded gravelled pathway beneath where we stood together, four stories up and away from everything else. We were silent, the remnant sounds from the party we had left barely registering. She gave me a wink and then hoisted Herself up onto the stone, swivelling so Her legs dangled over the edge, Her hands coming to rest wide each side of Her hips so She could lean back slightly and relax under the gentle moonlight. 

I asked Her, then, aloud...Why did She stay with me? After everything She had witnessed, after all I had done with Her and to Her, after putting Her up to be admired or critiqued, after selling Her on clothes and silly, meaningless things, why did She still come whenever I took too much? How could She stand it? I didn’t deserve even Her latency. 

I told Her. I told Her everything.

That’s how Fame found me. Sitting, looking like I was about to jump, tears streaming down my face as I begged Her to be real just so I could be free, perhaps stop tormenting myself. “Please, next time, come to me properly, we can start all over and I won’t ever hurt you again. Please, darling, please please please. I’ll get better for you, become a person too. Please please please.” 

I can still taste the words on my tongue. 

Fame took me back to the hotel and got me ready for bed. I was starting to slip away, then, but she told me she knew what I was going through, that she was sober because she had wanted to be genuine again and speak and think clearly for the first time since she was 20, to stop hurting those around her. We’ve not spoken about it today but I know we will. 

She saw me but she didn’t see Her. 

KZ :-I

-

“Hey girl, hope you had a good time in Palm Springs. Not bad for some, is it!” Shea exclaimed as she greeted Katya with a brief hug, delayed as everyone had managed to get there before her. Kim, Bob and Naomi were sat at a long wooden table under an umbrella and had already ordered several drinks for everyone. 

“Can’t complain!” Katya replied with equal enthusiasm, mirroring what Shea was giving her to play the expected part. “Good to see you, good to see you all.” She said to everyone as she sat in front of Kim, Trixie to her right with Shea next to Trixie. 

She shuffled in her seat, the hard wood pressing into her butt bones, and pretended to study The Abbey’s brunch menu, all the while listening in to the sheer volume of chatter that had sprung up around her now Trixie was amongst her friends. 

Katya had successfully said the right thing to Trixie and Trixie had explained to her she was just glad Katya had told her about Violet then - she said that doing so any later into their relationship would have made her suspicious and wouldn’t have helped, but that Katya told her once she had come to have a better opinion of Violet was a wise move. Katya had asked if Trixie really wasn’t bothered by it. Trixie had let go of her hand and pulled Katya in by the shoulders so her arm slung heavily across them as they walked.

“Of course I’m bothered by it.” Trixie deadpanned. “Not, like, oh she’s hotter than me, what does Katya see in me? Because I know what you see in me and I know I’m hot, just in a different way, and I’m not that pathetic. It’s feminism one-oh-one isn’t it? It’s more that...she knows all this stuff about you that I might never do, and she got to see you in times and places and scenarios that I can’t even picture. So, like...I’m more envious of that, than of what you did in bed or whatever. Do you get me?”

Katya definitely understood. Her heart ached. She had taken a firm hold of Trixie’s arm, hoping such a gesture could convey _something_. 

Kim asked her what she was thinking of ordering in Japanese and Katya replied, smirking to herself when she caught Trixie gawping at her out of the corner of her eye. She and Kim had a conversation to themselves, everyone else mocking how they were “showing off” and being “smart asses”. What they didn’t know was that they were telling poop jokes and Kim was teaching Katya how to accurately insult someone of the same social standing as her.

They returned to the main conversation soon enough and Katya rested her hand on Trixie’s bare thigh as she leaned over in order to be able to see everyone at the table. 

“So who else is getting fed up with Pearl and Violet posting sickeningly gorgeous couple pics every few days?” Naomi chimed up, earning a particularly pointed scream-laugh from Trixie.

When everyone raised their hand, Katya laughed too. “Ha! Violet’s followers are increasing even more than before. She must be tapping into the lesbian demographic now, too.”

“Does she really think like that all the time?” Shea asked.

“It’s her job.” Katya shrugged. “She’s very good at it, always has been.”

“What I want to know,” Bob said, “Is why you two don’t even have a picture of each other on your feed? You’re not running from the law or something are you, Katya?”

It was a joke, of course, but Katya flushed nonetheless. She hated how Trixie looked at her so expectantly, like she was waiting for an answer too. She swallowed, trying not to think about how sweaty her hand was getting against Trixie’s skin. “Yeah, I murdered someone, just don’t want good ol’ Trixabelle here getting tangled up in my life of crime.” She pressed a kiss to Trixie’s shoulder whilst everyone chuckled. All eyes were on her. “No, I’m just, uh, a bit, uh, private when it comes to social media, I guess. I know that sounds contradictory when I have, uh, so many followers but...it’s for that very reason I keep Trix off there.”

“That makes sense.” Shea nodded and Katya couldn’t help but feel like she was trying to pass some kind of test. 

“It really says something about where we’re at as a society that it’s unusual for someone not to post their every move. And, like, I love showing people around the world the things I’m seeing and experiencing. I’m not a total grandma or pessimist or whatever. It’s amazing to think someone in, I dunno, Turkey, can get a glimpse of some niche little attraction in LA for free, at the tap of a screen. The internet is a godsend! There’s just a limit, I think, and some people don’t know theirs or don’t even recognise there should be one.” 

“Ok, can someone take away her soapbox now.” Trixie joked, bringing the palm of her hand over Katya’s lips. Katya bit at her and laughed when Kim called them gross in Japanese. Katya almost didn’t catch the glimpses shared between Bob and Shea.

Once their masses of food arrived and Katya quietly tucked in to her smoked salmon benedict, she could breathe easier. She felt like she’d accomplished a great deal that morning and that, without explicitly mentioning it, Trixie had appreciated her opening up more, of giving her some explanations she had been too-tolerantly waiting for. 

For the most part, the rest of brunch went much better. Everyone apart from Katya got suitably tipsy on mimosas and bloody marys and their table was by far the loudest - though the group of tanned, blonde femmes next to them did give them a good run for their money. The only blip, so to speak, was when Katya had to give some details about her trip away. She fumbled through her answers and when she was asked if she’d been to this place or that, she quickly determined that it was simpler to just say she didn’t venture out much, stayed by the pool and took time to block out the outside world. She made sure to look Bob straight in the eye as she spoke. 

That night, as Trixie was falling asleep in Katya’s arms, beautifully pliant from being thoroughly fucked, Katya nosed behind Trixie’s ear and whispered every sweet nothing she could. “Thank you for being so understanding of me.” She mumbled, her own eyes struggling to stay open. “You’ve always been so patient. How have you...always...?” 

-

1st March 2012

Fame and I went for brunch today. She made sure I got home safe after the flight and then, yesterday, once I had properly recovered, she called and demanded to see me. I thought it would be too vulnerable of me to invite her to mine so we met at Buvette and thankfully got a table without having to wait. That would have just wound me up even more. 

I never thought I would be confronting some of my worst problems with someone over croque madame and jambon cru but it happened and the world didn’t collapse on me, and the food was rather delicious as well. 

Fame told me she had been sober for just over a year, that she found it hard every single day to refrain from indulging in old habits, but that she didn’t want to sabotage herself, to waste the opportunities she had worked hard for and dreamed of since she was a child. She said she could tell I was using because a lot of her former model friends had the same look, like they were trying hard all the time to appear on top of their game. I must have seemed terrified - she placed her hand on top of mine and reassured me she wasn’t judging or patronising me and that most people wouldn’t clock it as I was kooky anyway. She said that’s when it gets most insidious, when you know you can fool people so you start to become reliant because you can. Hearing someone else speak my very thoughts was, surprisingly, a comfort. 

We clinked our flutes of orange juice. I remember what she said to me, as clear as day, then. She said, “You don’t have to tell me anything and I might not know even a fraction of the story, and that’s ok, but I also can’t stand by and watch another person dig their own grave when it’s so unnecessary.”

I physically couldn’t get many of my words out, my throat was tight and I felt like I was going to throw up the entire time. I forced out a few things. Obviously, I didn’t mention Her. But having Fame witness me in such a state and know exactly what state it was shifted my perspective. All this time I had been convincing myself everything was fine, that this was who I was and if I could access things which heightened my abilities and personality, well, that was a good thing, right? But I knew. I wasn’t tricking myself and there’s only so long until I stop tricking everyone else too.

I made her promise not to tell anyone, especially not Violet. She made me promise to look into the programs she had recommended to me.

I told her I was thinking of going on a yoga retreat, which was news to me as well as her but, now I think about it, it might be the right option to start with, before I fling myself into the shame circle of AA meetings and the like. 

It’s just...where would anyone even start with me? This has been my whole life since I was a fucking teen. It’s irreversible! There’s no fixing what’s so deeply broken. This is me. This is all I’ve ever been. Self destructive, no confidence, no real talent but somehow stealing the limelight from those who warrant it a million times more than me. When I think of Avi and Madge back in Boston, how I haven’t spoken to them in so long because I can’t cope with the success I’ve had whilst they’re stuck in the same jobs. I don’t even know if they’re happy. I just can’t bring myself to contact them.

Which leads on to the loneliness. I am extremely lonely. I know other addicts share the sentiment (I am an addict - there’s no denying it. Wow, that’s the first time I’ve written such a thing, though) but I also know there is literally no one else in the world who shares my experience. No one hallucinates the same woman over and over again and comes to love Her like a wife, like we’re two parts of the same soul. NO ONE. NO ONE!!!!!

And that’s the main thing I’m scared of, if I stopped. I would stop seeing Her. And I would grieve like She had died. Or worse: like I had killed Her. 

I’m not doing anything else today. I’m sitting in my apartment and I’m staring out the window at the New York skyline and I’m letting myself think. I’m allowing myself all the necessities I have been depriving myself of recently. I am eating. I am not drinking anything other than water. I am not taking drugs, or smoking weed (in lieu of being honest here, I’ve been treating weed like it’s an exception when really it was one of the very first lines of connection to Her and I am just as dependent on it as anything else, if not more). I am going to let my mind wander to whatever it needs to and I am not going to chastise myself for thinking what I do or feeling what I might. 

I think I’ll get Fame a gift, a token of appreciation. I’ll see what Marco or whoever at Gucci can sort out for me.

Tomorrow I might actually book a retreat.

KZ :-/

-

Katya came home from Trixie’s place one morning to silence. No hammering, no voices of workmen, no pushing of furniture or heavy boots trampling in from the street. Peace. Completion.

She dropped her things onto her kitchen counter and stood in the sunlight flooding in from the windows, closing her eyes to relish in the uninterrupted warmth. She flinched when she heard footsteps coming up from the stairs that had been built in the formerly empty space to the right of her front door. She turned to see Bobby, a giant smile on his face, his arms wide in celebration.

“Is it…?” Katya asked, picking up on his mood.

He pranced over to her, clapping his hands. “All done and dusted, honey! Do you want to see?” 

“Of course I fuckin’ do!” She practically squealed as she was led by Bobby, his t-shirt pristine despite the sweat running down the back of his neck.

The steps were identical to the wood of her flooring, the banister white to match her lounge walls and kitchen fittings. It was a steep descent because of the height of the garage space but suitably manageable. 

As she got to the bottom, she stepped onto the same flooring, a black and white abstract print rug a few feet away from her. When she faced out towards the large windows, there was a sofa with a side table to her right, piled high with ‘coffee table’ books she had collected in New York, filled with art and photography and essays on both such subjects. Straight ahead stood a desk, wide enough for two people to work side by side at or, in Katya’s case, to work alone and have enough space on the other side to dump whatever she thought she might need during her process. To the left were an array of easels, canvases propped up on a purpose built holder, and shelves, freshly stocked with all kinds of paints, chalks, coals and every possible style of pen or pencil imaginable. Finally, hung up above another desk with a new iMac and Wacom Cintiq Pro 32 waiting for her, was the portrait of herself she had shown Trixie at the centre of a display of personal photographs hung up in clear frames.

“Where did you get all these?” Katya gestured towards the wall filled with pictures of her and Trixie, of her being engulfed by her mom and dad’s embrace in their hotel room, of her and her siblings with their arms around each other outside the Museum of Death, of her, Violet and Fame from Paris fashion week eight years previously, of Malibu beach and the view from the Hollywood sign and from Angels Point and from the spot she had sat in for the picnic in Echo Park with Trixie and her friends. Her eyes welled up. She blinked a couple of times.

“I have my ways.” Bobby smirked before coming to stand next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in for a tight side hug. “It was Trixie’s idea. She caught me one evening, weeks ago, as I was coming out and she was coming in. She said she liked everything I was doing but that you had nothing personal, nothing that reminded you of the things and people you loved. So we put our heads together and she provided the photos of the two of you, plus all the scenic ones. She said they were memorable places. Then one day, soon after you came back from your trip, you’d gone for a run but left your phone. It rang and it was your brother and - please don’t hate me - but I picked up and asked for some family photos. So I soon got an email from Dan the man with the rest.”

That was it, then, she was done for. She covered her face with the hand that wasn’t gripping onto Bobby’s shirt and burst into tears, crying into her palm as she pressed into it so her nose squashed and hurt a little from the pressure she inflicted.

“These are good tears, right? I’ve not meddled too much?” Bobby asked.

“No, not at all, that’s so…” She choked on another sob. “That’s so incredible of you, so above and beyond. I—” She sniffed, wiping at her face with her shaking fingers. “Thank you so much, so, so much.” 

Bobby brought her in for a proper hug and it was as if the floodgates had opened and she couldn’t contain what was inside her and she cried and cried and cried with him rubbing her back and telling her it was all ok, that she had beautiful things and gorgeous friends and such an adoring family. But that just made it worse, until she couldn’t breathe and Bobby had to sit her down.

“Oh, honey, let me get you some water. Come on, deep breaths. It’s alright, keep breathing.” She vaguely heard him say over the rush of blood in her ears.

By the time Bobby returned, she was taking shaky inhalations and exhalations. She shook her head when he asked if he should call Trixie or her family and huffed a laugh when he told her that that wasn’t at all the most dramatic reaction to a makeover he had experienced. 

Katya eventually calmed down enough to convince him to leave but promised to text him later that night with an update on how she was and to keep in touch so they could meet up for coffee or a shopping date in the future. 

It was only early in the afternoon but she had worn herself out. She lay down on her new sofa and faced the arrangement on the opposite wall, staring at herself looking back at her, at the people who continued to love her and show up for her despite how despicable she was. She closed her eyes and felt the tears run down her cheeks until she fell asleep, safe from her self loathing. 

-

27th September 2012

To go from silent retreats and ashrams to the bustling, stunning city of Paris is an experience, to say the least!

I arrived with Gucci this morning at Charles de Gaulle and was driven to the hotel in good time to do a little sightseeing before meeting Jen for dinner. She looks fantastic, so happy and radiant and polished (that’s French style for you), and has recently found a man which, ew, but ok. She was wearing one of my cardigans over a classic black YSL dress, agreeing with my point that my pieces can add that missing je ne sais quoi to an outfit. She laughed and gave me a full spin and told me I didn’t need to sell it to her, she loved it and had snapped up even more of the collection online after I sent her her package before release day. 

Gucci x KATYA has been out for over a month now. Ah! The write ups have been better than I could have imagined. I feel so lucky that, after so much worry, everything came up smelling of roses. I suppose now I’m sober, I can see things for what they are much more clearly, without the mugginess and the smudges of crippling self doubt. 

Jen ordered champagne but I (very bravely, bravo me) said I’d quit drinking. She was one of those people that protests and says, “Oh, just have one! Don’t be a spoiled sport!” but I didn’t crack. I texted Fame and she sent me a quick ‘well done!’ in between shoots. Jesus, she must be fucking exhausted and the week hasn’t even properly started yet. 

Jen told me all about YSL, how different it is from working for Betsey but how the greater challenges keep her fired up and more eager. We joked about high school French and how it would have been better for me to move here instead of her, given her poor grades and general lack of affinity with anything other than English. I said the French certainly couldn’t handle me and, given how the waiter had stared me down after hearing me laugh, I don’t think I could stand it here for longer than a fortnight either.

Still, it was brilliant to see her and I felt like she could tell something had changed in me too. She kept complimenting how bright my eyes were and how refreshed I looked. I joked and said touche eclat works wonders. 

Now I’m back in good time for an early-ish night (by fashion week standards), ready for it all to begin tomorrow. I’ve got Dries Van Noten at three, Gareth Pugh at six and the fashion council dinner at eight. I don’t think Violet is walking but she might have a shoot and Fame is going to be on the frow with me at Gareth’s show. We’re all attending the dinner so I’m looking forward to that, and to have a proper catch up. Violet sent me her schedule and it’s NUTS. Fucker won’t burn out, thankfully - I don’t know how she does it. Too much poise! 

My outfit options have all arrived so I might do a big try on before I sleep, just so I feel more prepared. 

This week sure will be interesting, teetotal…

KZ :-)

-

“Oh thank God, I haven’t heard from you all day! I was beginning to think the ground had finally swallowed you up to take you back to hell where you belong.” Trixie’s voice was emphatic in her ear. Katya was still on the sofa, only having moved once when the need to pee overruled her depressive wallowing. She had picked up her phone on the way back down to her studio but had neglected it for a few more hours in favour of crying one more time and then bringing her gaze in and out of focus over the portrait of herself. She had finally decided to look at her screen when it had got dark out and she had begun to get a headache. 

Among her other notifications, she had received many, many texts from Trixie. She fired one off to Bobby first, to apologise for her outburst and to thank him again for everything he had done. And then, just as she was about to open her thread with Trixie, she had called.

“If only they were to be so lucky down there.” Katya retorted, turning onto her back to look up to the immaculate white ceiling, halogen lights dotted across it. Katya hadn’t noticed them before.

“Everything alright? I don’t like you disappearing on me.” Trixie said. Katya could hear her rustle about, probably unloading groceries and putting them into her cupboards as she spoke. She pictured her with her phone to her ear, both hands full with fresh vegetables or boxes of dishwasher tablets that were on offer. She smiled to herself, despite her low mood.

“I’m in my studio. Bobby finished today and surprised me when I got home.”

The rustling abruptly stopped and Trixie screamed with mirth. “What do you think? Is it perfect? Was Bobby pleased? Did he end up getting that rug?”

Katya huffed a laugh at the bombardment of questions and talked Trixie through everything. Well, almost everything.

“And what about— I mean, Bobby told you, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah he—” Katya tried to push down the lump in her throat. “Thank you. I— _shit_.” She covered her mouth with her hand and squeezed her eyes shut as if doing so would stop the tears falling. 

“Kat? _Kat_? You ok?”

She tried her hardest to not make a sound, to keep everything closed off so the crying and the confessions and the god knows what else would stay inside her. She tried to push it all down and away but the knowledge, from years of experience, that it would only hinder her further made her attempts futile, redundant. “I can’t— that was too... _Trix_.”

“That was too what?” Trixie coaxed her, voice equal parts gentle and pressing, like she knew Katya needed a push.

Katya sniffed, loud and unbecoming. “Too kind, too nice, what you did, you and Bobby.”

“So, what, you’re upset because I did something for you?”

“No, no...Nevermind, I’m just being silly.”

Trixie didn’t sigh, she didn’t put Katya down. Instead, she asked her to help her understand and if Katya needed her to come over.

“No, I’m fi— I’m upset right now, at myself not you. But I’ll be alright...I just can’t handle how considerate you are.” Katya closed her eyes again, waited to be admonished for coming to Trixie with the same complaints. 

“You’re worthy of every little act of kindness. I know you find it hard but I think in time you’ll accept that you’re allowed good things. You deserve them just like I do, like everyone does. Well, not pedophiles or rapists or—”

“People who are cruel to animals.” Katya cut in, the warmth coming back to her voice.

Katya could envision Trixie’s smile. “Yes! Exactly. Just...let yourself feel what you feel, talk it through with me and we can go from there.”

“Thank you, baby, you really are the best.” Katya scrubbed at her face, forced herself to stand up, make the windows opaque, turn the lights off and go upstairs. Katya put Trixie on loudspeaker as she got herself some water, splashing some on her reddened skin while she was at it, and told her how much she loved the photos. She explained how Bobby got more pictures from her family and Trixie said she couldn’t wait to see them.

“Hey,” Trixie mused a while after, once Katya had listed all the things in her fridge and asked her what she could make out of it. “Why don’t you have a housewarming party? I know you moved in months ago but now the studio’s finished and you’ve met my friends, it’d be great. And I could meet yours. It doesn’t have to be fancy or a big deal. I could cook or it could just be nibbles and drinks. What do you think?” 

Katya was in the middle of rinsing some chickpeas for a simple curry Trixie had taught her to make. She turned off the tap and put everything down, drying her hands on a tea towel before holding on to her own stomach. She leaned her back against the counter like she was suddenly too weak to prop herself up. 

“You’ve already met Violet.” She winced at how strained she sounded. 

“Yeah and we all know how highly I thought of her after that. Come on, it’d be good for me to actually get to know her and you can meet Pearl, too. What about Jason? I’ve heard you mention an Amy before? You could invite Bobby? Would Fame be around?”

“No.” She said, too quickly. “I mean, it’s not fair to ask her to come from _New York_.”

“Ok, then Violet, Jason, Amy, Bobby, who else?”

“Oh my god.” She muttered to her own chest, bending at the waist and placing her hands on her thighs like marathon runners do at the end of their race.

“Kat?” Trixie’s voice rang out in the empty kitchen. Katya closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stood back up, consciously easing her shoulders away from her ears to regain composure.

“That’s all, Trix. I don’t...I don’t have many friends.”

“Oh.” There was an uneasy pause. “Well, it’ll be loud enough with Bob and everyone, any more and we’d piss off the neighbours, no doubt.” 

“Yeah.” Katya said blankly, uncertain as to where to go from there. Trixie had pretty much decided she was going to have the damn party and Katya was too emotionally run ragged to even formulate a sentence. Trixie hadn’t been that insistent about meeting her friends in the past but, Katya supposed, it had dragged on too long now, so she was taking matters into her own hands and not giving Katya much of an option. Katya couldn’t blame her. 

“Cool, next Saturday? Or is that too soon?”

“Next Saturday…” Katya echoed back in disbelief. 

Katya heard Trixie clap with excitement. “Amazing! I’ll let everyone know. Ooh, this’ll be great. I promise to be extra nice to Violet, and you better believe I’m going to bug her for stories about you.”

Katya ran her fingers through her hair, gripping a handful at the crown of her head so tightly it hurt. “Can’t wait.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think I've tortured you enough, don't you? Strap in, lesbians (and other lovely ladies), it is finally about to kick off. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading. Please leave feedback if you would like! Means a lot :)
> 
> (Just fyi, take heed of the tags for this chapter)

5th January 2013 

I have reconnected with my family and made a few new friends and kept myself afloat but...existence without Her lacks. I’m so, so tired of feeling incomplete. 

KZ :-(

-

Katya was on her knees. Katya was on her knees, _scrubbing her floors_ , because Trixie had decided that the whole apartment needed a deep clean before they set things out for the party. It was Saturday morning, a time Katya usually dedicated to yoga or walks in the sunshine or slow, tender sex, and she was in a huff because Trixie was playing hostess with her and it was adorable but also absolutely fucking terrifying. 

Katya had ensured she kept busy in the week leading up to it. She had booked in with Jason every day and by Thursday he had clocked on to something not being quite right. 

“You’re even more antsy than usual, what the hell’s up with you?” He had asked as her thighs shook. She had her back to the wall, legs bent at a ninety degree angle so her knees were in line with her butt and she was holding a forty pound dumbbell to her chest, to top it all off. 

“I’m,” She took a loud inhalation, muscles straining, “Nervous about the party.”

Jason told her she had ten more seconds. “Why? I’ll behave, I promise! I’ll only get my ass out after midnight.”

Katya scrunched her face up, both from her exertion and from the thought of Jason’s bare butt, which she had seen far too much of on his instagram for her lesbian liking. “Oh, thanks, that’s my anxiety sorted.”

“Zero! Good job, take forty five seconds rest.” He handed her her Chilly’s bottle. “No, seriously, it’ll be great. You know all her friends already and I’m dying to meet her. It’s about time, girl!”

Breathing heavy, Katya gulped down her water. “I am very much aware. That’s what’s got me all…” She gestured, hands floppy, around herself. “I dunno, I just want things to go well.”

“Because you _love her_.” Jason singsonged like a school child.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, screwing the lid of her bottle on tight before throwing it back to him, ready to pick up the dumbbell again and finish her last set. 

“Go!” He slapped his thigh, keeping his eyes on his timer. “You didn’t deny it, I see.” He said once she’d gotten back into position.

“No, I didn’t.” She forced out, grimacing as her minute hold seemed to drag on for eternity. 

Trixie had stayed over on Friday night after finishing late on a shoot and ran through who was coming and therefore what supplies they would need. Everyone but Amy was miraculously free and Amy had sent strings upon strings of sad emojis amidst her apologies as she had already accepted an invitation to another event of her friend’s. Katya reassured her that that was absolutely fine. It was one less person for her to worry about. 

Katya’s hands started to wrinkle. The eco friendly floor cleaner she had picked up in Whole Foods had a nice smell and was much gentler on her skin than products she had used fleetingly in the past. Still, she resented Trixie for not letting her get her cleaner over. Trixie, nonetheless, was in her element, doing something strange with baking soda in her fridge and somehow getting the silver of her taps and appliances to sparkle. With anyone else, she would have given up by that point and told her to stuff it, she wasn’t wasting her time on something she so vehemently hated doing. There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance Trixie would have stood for that upper middle class shit, however, so she kept her head down and carried on washing the newly glistening wood, imagining she was scrubbing her conscience clean and only smiling when Trixie started singing the Kacey Musgraves song they had listened to on their beach date.

-

17th April 2013

I’ve been invited to put on an exhibition for the Hayward Gallery. It’s going to be ticketed, which is rather rare in London unless you’re a very big name, but the gallery doesn’t receive local or government funding so they tend to charge and host several contemporary artists per year. I’ve got the slot from the end of September to mid December. 

I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.

I was freshly brewing over it before my meeting yesterday as I got the call about an hour beforehand. I’ve not created anything new since around the time of my Gucci collaboration. 

I felt even more out of place, then - people around me talking about potentially losing their homes or struggling to pay off the debts they occurred when using, and there I was, lamenting over the fact I have to make some fucking art for a fucking world renowned gallery in London. 

I see how everyone looks at me. 

Ha. I can’t even be the right kind of addict.

I’ve not heard from Violet or Fame for a few weeks. Violet’s off somewhere shooting for i-D and Fame is up to her neck in go sees and editorials. I’ve got back in touch with Amy, though, and she told me she’s building up the courage to get sober too. It took all my willpower not to tell her it wasn’t worth it. She’s worth it. I’m not. 

It’s just. Everything is so dull. People often talk about coming back to themselves or finding who they are without drugs and alcohol. I know who I am without it. I’m uninspired, I’m empty and heartbroken and, at first, I had my retreats, I had fashion week, I had all these experiences to keep me going. But now I just have me, myself and I. And I hate myself. I’m nothing (nothing without Her). 

Mom and Dan are coming to see me this weekend. It’s all part of me ‘making amends’. I just wish I could show them they have nothing to worry about. They don’t deserve all this. I’ve put them all through hell for so long to the point that if I text my mom, even just to say hi, she always says thank you. I can’t begin to describe how much that guts me. 

I guess I need to start thinking about whether to go in a different artistic direction. Go back to performance or venture further into the abstract or just draw with pencil and paper - strip it all back and away - and see what the fuck happens. Or I could keep painting Her, even without reference. Or I could…

NO.

KZ :-(

-

Trixie drove Katya to Vons and put her in charge of wheeling the shopping cart and picking the nicest looking avocados for the homemade guacamole she was going to make. Katya’s mood had miraculously lifted slightly, especially when she spotted two giant cantaloupes, held them up to her chest and shouted across the aisle, “How do you like my melons?” 

They cackled their way around, making lewd jokes and pinching each other whenever they could manage to get away with it without being thrown out for public indecency. Katya did, however, slap Trixie’s ass as she bent over to look at some wine. The sound of it rang out, along with Trixie’s high pitched screech. They didn’t stay much longer after that.

It was only a five minute journey back and Katya spent it watching the clock on Trixie’s dashboard.

Their guests were due to arrive at eight. Trixie had allocated the afternoon to prepare the snacks and finger food and Katya had booked a yoga class to keep her as calm as possible, occupied and out of Trixie’s way. If nothing else, the whole party idea had highlighted just how much of a go getter Trixie was. Whereas Katya was too lazy and ambivalent, Trixie was full of energy and knew exactly what she wanted. Despite the dread building within her, Katya tried to take the opportunity to analyse these traits of Trixie’s, to observe her and enjoy the chance to learn something about her in a new context, to consider that, everything else aside, they really did complement each other. Perhaps not perfectly, but close enough. And that was a lot more than most people found. 

Stepping back into her place, Katya smelt the freshness of her countertops, her cushions and furnishings, alongside the vegan canapes Trixie had fashioned. Katya came over to her as she was still busy chopping the components of her two big salads, greeting her with a kiss to the back of her neck and a barrage of praise for how amazing everything looked.

“Thank you.” Trixie quickly turned her head to peck Katya’s cheek. “Hey, quick question.” She said as Katya brought her hands to her ass, squeezing a few times before snaking her arms around Trixie’s waist to feel up and down her stomach.

“Hmm?” Katya nuzzled at Trixie’s nape, her hair tied up and out of the way.

“Those photos— your mom is so cute by the way, what the fuck. She’s, like, tiny. Mine could eat your mom and she’d still be hungry.”

Katya huffed a laugh, watching Trixie cut up some tomatoes to distract her from the alarm bells ringing in her head. 

“When were they taken? They look real recent but you haven’t seen them since you moved, right?”

_Oh god oh god oh god_ , Katya blinked, made sure to keep her hands moving, her breath steady against Trixie’s skin. She kissed her neck a few times to give herself a moment. “Right. The one of my parents and I was at a hotel we stayed in last year and the one of Dan and Shan and I was taken outside a museum in Boston. I dragged them to it and they really weren’t feeling it so I kept making them laugh and mom took a picture.” Shrouding her lies in partial truths had always been the key to her survival way back when, and falling into that modus operandi again was like putting on a heavy fur coat - it protected her but it weighed her down and was ultimately made from dead remains. 

“I’d like to meet them. You can tell how much they love you. I wish my mom looked at me like yours does.” Trixie scraped everything on her chopping board into a large glass bowl (that Katya hadn’t owned so Trixie had had to bring her own for the occasion). She put her knife down and wiped her hands on a tea towel and Katya waited for her to turn around before she responded, so she could gage what Trixie needed, what was best. Sometimes she benefitted from Katya making jokes about her and her mom, sometimes Trixie wanted Katya to listen to her as she worked through a niggle she had or something her mom had done. 

Trixie came to face her, still several inches taller than her with her feet bare. Katya was surprised she hadn’t made fun of her for still wearing her shoes after she had complained so much about cleaning the floor.

“My family all want to meet you too.” Katya said, noting how Trixie was searching for reassurance. “And my mom might look small, but she could kick your mom’s ass if ever that was necessary.”

Trixie squawked with laughter and Katya kissed her open mouth, kept kissing her until the oven timer went off and Trixie got back to excitedly arranging all her dishes.

-

17th June 2013

I can’t do it without you. I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried. I’ve been to all the meetings and I’ve talked as much as I possibly can out with Fame and Amy and listened to them too. I’ve kept up my yoga and I’ve eaten ‘clean’ and I’ve stopped going to parties and I’ve ensured my sleep schedule has been somewhat sensible. I’ve stood in front of my canvases and picked up my brushes and meticulously mixed my paints to get the exact shades I wanted in the moment. But then I get so lost. I can’t think of you in the way I could when I was high. Your details are fuzzy, I can’t picture the colours of your eyes in the same way that I could see them. I can’t remember how many freckles dotted your shoulders or which of your boobs was a bit larger than the other. 

I can’t do anything because I don’t have you and now I have to separate myself from you. I might be the only way, artistically. You’re what I’m known for and it’s such a big fucking risk to do the unexpected, especially when I don’t have the right mental faculties to embark on a new range of subjects. Whatever I make will never live up to you. 

For now, I’ve been good. I’ve held myself back, just to see what’s possible, if it can be done. I don’t know how much longer I can carry on like this. So now I’m coming to realise - it’s either: do what I need to in order to get you back and into my work again or give up completely. I don’t know which is more harrowing. What would I do otherwise? I can live on my earnings for a couple of years, maybe, but after that? Sell all my work to top me up for another five or six? Do shifts at a tea shop again? Become a critic?! HA! 

I’ve two months to get a whole fucking exhibition together. They’re asking me for details about the concept. I’ve ignored my emails for days but they just keep coming. It’s urgent, they say, they need to start sending out information packs to their donors and get things ready for the website. 

It’s enough for me to start eyeing my knives again. I won’t do that. Not yet. I’ve just got to see this through. Just to see.

I wish there was even the tiniest of possibilities of seeing you one more time, without it leading to my complete destruction. I need to move on from you but I don’t understand how when you weren’t really here to begin with.

FUCK!

KZ :-(

-

“Help me choose an outfit.” Katya murmured into Trixie’s damp hair, smelling her shampoo on her. 

After Trixie had finally finished with the food and had set it out on the kitchen counters with saran wrap covering it, Katya had led her to the bedroom and fucked her like she had wanted to that morning. They had showered together, Trixie letting Katya rub herself off on her leg as they made out, and Katya had soaped Trixie up, pressing her fingertips into her muscles and giving her a standing massage in thanks of all she had done that day. They had wrapped fluffy white towels around their heads and bodies and Trixie had allowed them fifteen minutes of cuddling before they absolutely had to get ready. 

Trixie lit up, always down for the chance to rummage in Katya’s colossal wardrobes. She jumped up out of Katya’s embrace and started on the far left hand side, flinging open the door, behind which Katya hung her trousers on the top rack and her smart shirts and tops on the bottom. 

Trixie cackled. “Oh my god, every time I open this thing, it seems like there’s even more stuff about to devour me whole.”

Katya came up behind her, trying to guess exactly which items Trixie was looking at in order to stop the panicky thoughts coming back, the thoughts of imminent doom. 

Trixie inspected each piece, pulling a few out that caught her eye but putting them back just as soon as she had surveyed them. She was about halfway through, making a funny comment about Katya’s new Duran Lantink trousers, when Katya said it. She didn’t even realise at first, splitting her sides and leaning against Trixie with one hand gripping onto her waist to keep her balanced. But then Trixie stopped laughing and she stood still, like she had frozen in time, and it was suddenly as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, too. 

“You _what_?” Trixie asked, eyes wide in panic or wonder, Katya couldn’t determine. Trixie turned so they were facing each other, so she could grip Katya’s forearms tight enough for her nails to dig into her skin. Katya focussed on the developing imprint, four pink crescent moons on her left and right side, Trixie’s thumbs pressing down on her own index fingers. 

It wasn’t how she ever imagined saying it. Since talking with Jason, she had kept herself entertained by coming up with plenty of elaborate scenarios - and then slightly more realistic ones that would no less bowl Trixie over. There, next to her open wardrobe where a few of her hangers had become askew and the clothes they were holding had slid off into an untidy heap, wasn’t at all ideal, but it was her reality. 

She shook her head, let out a nervous titter. It was true. There was no point in denying it. “I love you.” The words dangled between them as Katya tracked Trixie’s reactions; the parting of her lips, the upturning of her eyebrows, the look of unmitigated surprise, like Katya hadn’t been showing her how deeply she felt ever since they got together. 

Katya hadn’t been conscious of it but she had _known_. 

She had loved a version of Trixie at one time in an inexplicable, nameless way, a way no one else would have understood. In her Los Angeles home, the one that Trixie had helped make hers, she loved her simply, wholly. It was a love others could see. A love that was tangible and real, for all that it was still complicated too. 

Trixie took a step closer and Katya let out the breath she had been holding. “You do?” 

Katya nodded. “I’m sorry if it’s too soon, or puts pressure on you or something. Please don’t let it. I don’t expect you to say it back. It didn’t even fully register with me yet but I think I had to tell you before— to validate it myself. And so you know that whatever I’ve done or said to you, uh, with you, is for a reason. I...yeah, I love you.”

-

20th June 2013

I caved. I’m sorry but I had to. 

KZ :-(

-

26th September 2013

The exhibition opened two days ago and there have been a steady stream of people coming in since. I sat outside yesterday, out of my head, watching whoever ventured into the gallery, what they wore, who they came with, how they interacted. It was still mild out so it wasn’t unpleasant, per se, but it sure was uncomfortable, to put myself through witnessing everyone’s reactions to the work knowing what it cost me to complete it. It was nice to hear those who had previously seen my art or who had heard of me (try to) explain who I was to their companions. “She did a collaboration with Gucci.” seemed to be the most popular phrase, which often got a hum of approval or a remark along the lines of, “Oh, cool, I wouldn’t have expected that.” 

I was taking notes the whole time, like amassing critiques from the common man and woman and whoever in between would give me some sign as to where to go from here.

I’m in London for another week. I feel as if I’ve been here for months. I’m still of the opinion that fashion week here was perhaps the best one I’ve been to, just because of how the Brits do things, so different to New York (which is so different to Milan which is so different to Paris). I only just remembered yesterday that I got talking to Sienna Miller at the end of the Burberry show. She introduced me to Paloma Faith (who I hadn’t heard of but who was a massive ‘wanker’, as they say here, despite her look being so on point) and Harry Styles from One Direction. He’s sweet as cherry pie! And as gay as the day is long, bless him. I hope someone’s looking out for him in this awful world. 

God, that seems like a lifetime ago. Time is near impossible for me to grasp at the moment. I slip in and out of awareness of where I stand, of what constitutes as the here and now. 

Me and my dealer fucked last night. She’s mid twenties, I think, hot in that typical London rock ‘n’ roll kind of way. Dark brown roots and blonde beach wavy hair, like Kate Moss but younger and on meth instead of coke. She left straight after, thankfully, and I smoked a bit, talked to Her until the sun came up and I finally managed to get a few hours sleep. 

I don’t know what to do today. I wrote a letter to my mom whilst She was with me, hovering over my shoulder like a guardian angel. I don’t think I’ll send it. I can’t stand the thought of her getting all excited to see some correspondence from me, only for it to be so grey, so blue, so black. 

At least I’ve got enough shit to get me through the rest of the trip. Part of me wants to hide out here so I don’t have to face some harsh realities when I get back. Part of me wants to get home and hibernate for the winter, though I’ve not decided whether I’ll come out the other end alive.

KZ :-/

-

Trixie cracked, her smile overtaking her features and deepening the creases at the side of her mouth. 

Katya wondered if she had been weighing up whether to fight her natural instinct, to follow her head or her heart. Trixie was a loving person, for as much as she was scathing too. She was soft and harsh, and Katya had come to be able to predict when she would see those different sides of her, and she had taken pride in that understanding. There were, of course, things about Trixie she didn’t know yet either. For as much as she concerned herself over how much of herself she had given away, she also came to acknowledge that there were parts of Trixie’s story she had yet to be told. And that was always her prerogative, not Katya’s. 

Watching Trixie huff a nervous laugh and look down at where she was holding on to Katya’s arms, Katya thought back to the glances shared between Trixie’s friends during their brunch. She would have been ignorant not to pick up on what they meant, not to consider that Trixie’s friends most likely had some reservations. Perhaps they had managed to find something on the internet about her; perhaps they had found something out through Pearl from what Violet might have said; perhaps they hadn’t discovered a thing, and that was what was raising their suspicion. 

“Are we alright? I’ve not ruined everything have I?” Katya asked, knowing that she had but for very different reasons.

“No, no you’ve not. It’s just...unexpected. Lovely, though.” She smiled again, looking into Katya’s eyes for the first time since her accidental declaration. “Shocking, I know, but it’s not every day I have a sexy, intelligent, hilarious older woman confess her love for me. Even if it was a bit of a mistake. I’ll be the envy of the party, tonight, won’t I?”

Katya let Trixie get changed whilst she scurried off to the bathroom to splash her face and neck with cold water and practice her most useful calming breathing exercise. She looked at herself in the mirror, florid and shaking, and gave herself ten more seconds to panic. Then, she steeled herself and determined that, even if everything completely went to shit by the end of the night, she had told Trixie how she feels, she had done her best to save Trixie from the truth for as long as she could. It wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t how she’d imagined it all going, but it was what it was. 

Regardless, she knew she had to start psyching herself up to tell Trixie everything. Falling in love with the real Trixie had made her realise that she could no longer hold on to Trixie the muse, the work of art. Trixie was a person, a person with agency and her own secrets and struggles and passions, who deserved to be treated as such. It was beyond unfair for Katya to keep her in the dark, to always be the one to control what she knew and what she was left scrambling to find out. Katya had been thinking of herself for so long, about what she could handle and what would send her into another tailspin. If she had any hope of keeping Trixie in her life, she knew she had to put Trixie first. 

By the time she had resurfaced, Katya came to find the bedroom empty and heard Trixie bustling about in the kitchen. Katya put the clothes which had fallen off her hangers back in place, closing the doors to the left hand side of her wardrobe and opening the ones on the right. She knew just what to wear, the perfect outfit for the artist whose brand new studio had just been completed, ready to be shown off to those whose judging eyes were searching for something substantial. She had to play the part, even if her role would soon be uncovered as the big lie it was. 

The Chanel dress had been gifted to her from the Spring Ready To Wear collection after she hadn’t been able to attend the debut of it at Paris Fashion Week in September 2013. She had barely worn it, which was a crime in itself, for as much as she had adored it at first. Then, as time had passed, it had seemed like an insult, like she couldn’t justify putting it on when she was no longer the artist formerly known as KATYA.

She lifted it up high so it didn’t trail on the ground. Inspecting its unspoiled condition, the way the round neck layered over the main body of the dress and the hem evolved into strips which curled in loose spirals at the shin, she undid the zip and lifted it over her head to put it on, gingerly so as not to get her deodorant on it or to damage the delicate material. She ran her hands over its many overlays, the multicoloured pattern mimicking sections of paper with watercolour brush strokes on it in the full range of rainbow shades. Each colour started intense and vibrant and paled at the end of the strip like the pigment had run out. She shoved her feet into her black, Gucci ankle wrapped heels and listened out for Trixie.

“Bob and Shea are two minutes away.” Trixie called out to her from the other room as she was putting her mascara on. “Are you nearly done? I need to finish my makeup.” Her voice got louder as she came closer. Katya rushed to fluff up her hair to give it a bit more volume and grabbed her lipstick, swiping it quickly across her lips so she was ready by the time Trixie stepped through the door. 

Trixie stopped in her tracks, taking Katya in. “Holy shit.” She looked her up and down. Usually, at that point, Katya would have started posing, goofing around and giving her a show. Then, however, she stood stock still, letting Trixie come over to her and graze her finger tips over her hips where the material began to float and whorl. “This is fucking fancy. _Wow_...so beautiful.” She said as her eyes met Katya’s.

“I needed to dress for the occasion.” Katya supplied.

“You look incredible.” Trixie drew her in, placing a soft kiss on her lips so as not to smudge her drying lipstick. Trixie brought her hand to Katya’s cheek, their faces mere inches apart. “Close your eyes.” Trixie whispered. Katya did as she was told, feeling Trixie’s fingers caress her under eyes then wipe at her lids. “You had some mascara.” 

Katya kept her eyes closed, breathed in the scent of Trixie’s perfume so it reached the very depths of her chest and hummed. “You’re so good to me, Trix. I hope I’m good to you too.”

“I think you are. I think...” 

There was a sudden succession of knocks at Katya’s door. She jerked out of Trixie’s hold and Trixie told her to go greet her guests whilst she finished getting ready. Katya nodded, stealing one more kiss from her in case it was the last one she got. 

-

2nd March 2014 

Months of not doing anything. I lie on the floor just to change things up a bit. The dust settles on me until I start shivering and then I sit in my bathtub until the water turns cold too. The delivery boy from the pizza place refers to me as ‘the weird rich woman’ who ‘orders two pizzas like she has someone in there with her’. He jokes on the phone right outside my door that I probably murdered my husband but still feed him like he’s chatting to me over dinner. Does he think that I can’t hear?

Does he think that that’s what I’m capable of?

Fame still comes to visit when she can. Violet has been in London and Paris and Milan but Fame only did Paris this year. She usually gives me 24 hours notice, which is enough time for me to clean the whole apartment, wash my hair and put on real clothes and makeup. I clear the place of the empty bottles and hide my meth and weed at the back of my wardrobe, behind all my shoe boxes. She asked me for my mom’s number last time she was here. I think she knows my time is running out. I hate that one day she’ll come and I won’t be here. She knows what it’s like. She knows she can’t be a saviour. 

Dan calls every day. I never pick up. Mom leaves voicemails. I never listen to them. Sometimes dad rings too. Those are the calls that kill me the most. Shannon doesn’t even try. She’s always been the smartest one of us all. 

Amy had her first day of rehab yesterday. I’m thinking of her constantly. She can’t have contact with me (or anyone), obviously, for a while. I just hope she can sense my well wishes from here. She’s got what it takes. Last time we spoke, she mentioned starting her own clothing line once she gets better. That would be really cool.

I think Violet’s starting to pick up on something being wrong. She’s being very nice. Too nice. I’d rather she continue being herself. No one should have to change because of me.

KZ :-(

-

“Oh shit, this is amazing!” Bob exclaimed, Shea agreeing readily. Katya was giving them the tour, talking through Bobby’s design choices and keeping her hands busy, pointing certain details out and showing them how the windows worked.

“And these photos, oh my god, these are all so cute. Are those your parents?” Shea bounded over to the frames on the far wall. Katya nodded, told her the same story she had told Trixie.

“Well, we finally got the couple selfies!” Bob added, sticking his face in front of Shea to inspect them, causing her shove at his shoulder to move him back out of the way. 

“Hope they don’t disappoint.” Katya’s voice came out a little too squeaky for her liking. She coughed and asked if they wanted a drink, inviting them back upstairs. “Trixie will probably be ready now.” 

Katya sat them on the sofa, wittering on about how she had been stuck between two options for her desk but had settled on that one because it was bigger as she poured them some champagne. She got herself some non-alcoholic wine and Bob announced a toast to “Katya’s dream home.”

Trixie swanned in soon after, knocking all the air out of Katya’s lungs. She was mid sentence but stopped dead in her tracks upon taking in Trixie’s outfit, how she’d styled her hair and done her makeup. She was wearing a long, rust coloured dress. Its voluminous bishop sleeves emphasised the tight fit against her waist creating the perfect silhouette, and she wore an across-the-forehead headband, like what Katya had pictured her in a decade previously. Everything seemed to be coming full circle. Katya only hoped that that meant she would get the opportunity to start over, that she and Trixie wouldn’t end. 

Trixie poured herself a drink and strutted over to stand by Katya. Katya immediately sought her out, sliding her hand across her lower back and gripping onto her hip to pull her closer. Looking up at her, she barely heard the others wolf whistling and making comments about the two of them. “You look beyond beautiful. Incomprehensible, as always. I’m so lucky.” She said quietly over the rowdiness of Bob and Shea.

“Thank you. We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“Sure are.” Katya swallowed.

Kim, Naomi, Bobby and Jason all arrived pretty much at the same time. Bobby asked if he could show the others downstairs and Katya nodded emphatically, wanting to remain as near to Trixie as she could.

It was past nine when Violet and Pearl finally showed up. As they sauntered through the door, Katya quipped, “Wow, you’re early!” Everyone, including Violet, laughed and the tension that had amounted in Katya began to dissipate as Violet made a beeline for Trixie, introducing herself like they hadn’t already met (to get it right this time, Katya thought) and not displaying any outward signs that she had noticed something too familiar about her, even with her makeup so distinct as it was, exactly how Katya used to depict it. Katya didn’t know how she was getting away with any of what she had so far. That used to be the story of her life. She didn’t want that to be the case anymore. 

Pearl gave Katya a loose hug, told her she’d heard so much about her in that droning voice of hers, and that she was glad to have finally met the person who managed to get Trixie to actually stop working every minute of every single day.

“I still think she does that.” Katya said, giving Trixie a squeeze as she talked with Violet. Katya couldn’t catch what they were saying to each other but Trixie’s shoulders were relaxed and she wasn’t clutching her glass, like she tended to do when she was experiencing discomfort. Katya quickly scanned the rest of the room to see everyone chatting in small groups, mixing and getting along just fine. 

“Trust me,” Pearl got her attention again, “Before you came along, if she wasn’t on a job, she’d be looking for one. She’s always been fun, too, don’t get me wrong. You just, I dunno, put her at ease a bit more, show her there’s more to life.” 

“Only because I can. I’m in a very privileged position.” 

Pearl huffed a laugh, her doll eyes seeming more life like, then. “Oh, you’re a rich bitch, we know.”

Trixie stepped away to uncover all the food and tell people to dig in. Everyone milled about with their plates in hand, picking and choosing from Trixie’s creations. Katya made sure to tell everyone it was all Trixie’s hard work and Trixie cooed at her, kissing her cheek before helping herself to some salad. 

Violet sidled up next to her once they had both got a bit of everything to try. She was wearing a black Jean Paul Gaultier pencil skirt, her tallest Louboutins and a Bordelle corset, detailed with buckled straps all down the back. Her hair was styled in her best Bettie Page ‘do and her dark red lips stood out against her pale skin. 

“Shit, is that the Chanel dress? _The_ Chanel dress that has never seen the light of day?” She exclaimed after giving Katya the once over.

Katya grimaced and swiped at her. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Violet, say it louder, I think there’s an old man in China who didn’t hear you.” Violet cackled, made as if to open her mouth like she was about to actually repeat herself. Katya rolled her eyes. “Yes, it is. It was the right time. How’s things with Trixie?”

Katya watched her look at Trixie where she was sat with Kim and Naomi on the sofa. Violet squinted and tilted her head. “Good, yeah, I made sure to show her I’m not a total demon and I actually like what she’s wearing. You must have rubbed off on her in more ways than one.” 

“Ha ha.” Katya deadpanned, breaking out in a sweat once she saw Violet was still staring at Trixie, studying her in what Katya anticipated was way beyond surveying her outfit.

“She reminds me of something or someone, I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it.” Violet took a bite of her food. Katya’s was neglected on her plate.

“Barbie.” She blurted out, as if giving Violet a suggestion would make her settle on it. Her heart pounded. She had to free up her hands, wipe them on her forearms to try and control how   
clammy they were.

“No, she looks way too crazy for Barbie. She’s like…extreme and a little bit off and...”

And then it fell into place. Katya saw it in slow motion - the widening of Violet’s eyes, the raise of her brows, the parting of her lips like she was about to call out. Her fight or flight response kicked in. She snatched Violet’s plate out of her hand, half-throwing it onto the counter so it clattered, causing everyone else to flinch. She took hold of Violet’s shoulders and pushed her to move, shoving her along the corridor and straight into the bathroom, where she locked the door behind them and forced her to sit down on the toilet seat. 

There was a moment where they just stared at each other, stunned, chests heaving.

“Kat? Everything alright?” Trixie called out, all muffled from the barrier of the closed door and the spike in gossiping amongst all her guests. 

“Fine, give us a few minutes.” Katya replied, her voice cracking on her first word.

“You sure?”

Katya sighed, dipping her head so she leaned against Violet’s forehead, another manner of keeping her exactly where she was. “Sure!”

She heard the shuffle of Trixie hesitating outside then collapsed against Violet once she heard the clack of her heels retreating. Her exhalation came out jittery and loud in the confinement of the space they shared together. She scrunched her eyes shut, grappling at Violet’s shoulders to keep herself upright. 

“That’s...she’s…? She looks...she’s like your art...I...what?” Katya had never heard Violet struggle for words before. In times of true panic, it was a marvel, the things that were unnerving the most. 

Katya gave in. She used her last bit of strength to hoist herself up to sit on the edge of the bathtub and brought her face into the palms of her hands, her elbows planted on her trembling thighs. 

“Kat, have you known her all this time and didn't tell anyone or…?” Violet asked, gentler than Katya had been used to throughout the past months. She felt Violet’s hand on her shoulder start to rub circles into her skin so she could focus on the pressure.

Katya shook her head, some of her mascara crumbling off from how her lashes were squashed against her fingers.

“Then...how…?”

She took a shaky breath and kept her head down, like doing so protected her somehow. “I don’t know, Vi. I’ve seen her practically my whole life, since I was in 7th grade and then—”

“What do you mean, ‘seen her’? Violet interrupted.

Katya explained as best she could, facing the ground the entire time. She didn’t know how long they’d been in there and she hadn’t a clue if Violet would ever look at her the same again, much less want to be her friend, after what she had listened to. The silence that proceeded deafened her, quilting her in shame. Of course, it was a lot for Violet to take in, more than anyone should be expected to from a friend they thought they knew. 

Violet took her hand away. Katya missed the contact instantly. “You’ve never told anyone about this, have you? About her?”

Katya shook her head again.

“God, you always were a master at hiding things. This must have fucking eaten away at you. And there’s really no explanation? You didn’t see her as a kid on the street or something, never crossed paths without knowing?”

“No, one of the first things I asked her was whether she had ever been to Boston and she hadn’t. I thought of every eventuality, believe me. There’s no explanation.” Katya said.

Another pause strung out.

“Katya, look at me.” 

Katya only squeezed her eyes shut tighter, buried her head further.

“ _Look at me_.” Violet demanded, out of necessity rather than annoyance. Katya raised her head, blinked until Violet came into focus and the tears threatening to spill over her waterline had fallen down and away. Violet clasped Katya’s hand, brought her face close to hers as if to show her she wasn’t going anywhere. “I can’t imagine how scary this has been. It’s weird, yeah, and not something I’ve heard anyone experience before, and it must be so fucking frustrating not to know why or how this happened, but it doesn’t mean that you have to go through it alone. And...it doesn’t mean you’re still ill or that you’re insane. Trixie’s a real person, we can all see her and interact with her. I don’t mean to sound patronising, saying this, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it. The past is the past, however much of a mystery it is. The Trixie you know now is the Trixie that matters. Don’t discredit who you are now, either.”

Katya let a sob wrack her composure as she collapsed into Violet’s hug, holding her tight with gratitude. “Thank you. I love you, I love you so much, thank you for sticking with me.”

Katya felt Violet smile against her cheek. “I love you too, you freak. Now, I’m running out of my being-nice quota. Let’s get you cleaned up and looking hot as fuck again so we can get back out there and I can keeping charming that woman of yours.”

Katya wiped at the black streams underneath her eyes, huffing a laugh. “Shit, we’ve gotta go back. What are we going to say?”

Violet rummaged in her cupboards to find a makeup wipe and Trixie’s spare mascara where she left it to use whenever she came over to stay the night. Katya stood on weak legs to come to the mirror and sort her face out, decidedly not fixating on where there were red splotches or how puffy her eyes were. 

“We say everything’s ok, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll say to Pearl it’s not appropriate party discussion and will tell her at home, which gives me time to come up with something. And you,” Violet came to stand in front of her, placing a graceful hand on each of Katya’s inflamed cheeks, “You’ll say to Trixie that you promise to tell her later. And you will.”

“Yeah...I will. I have to, don’t I?”

-

25th May 2014

I’ve got it all lined up. It’s taken weeks but I think I’ve collected enough painkillers to do the deed. I worried I wouldn’t be thirsty enough to keep downing them all with water, so I haven’t had anything to drink since last night and I ate a load of salty chips just now. I’m prepared. I’m determined. I’m really going to do it this time.

I guess this is my note. I used to think about what I’d write all the time, back when all this first started. Now, none of it seems enough. Sorry doesn’t cover it. But I am. I’m sorry, mom, dad, Dan, Shan, Vi, Fame, Amy. I’m sorry I’ve done this to you. It’ll hurt for a while and you’ll all wonder what you could have done. Nothing. I didn’t want that. I pushed you all away for that very reason. You wouldn’t have got to me. 

The only thing that had ever stopped me going through with it before was thinking about what it would do to the people I loved. It’s got to the point where it’s more cruel of me to stay alive.

I’m sorry. I am. But I can’t take it anymore.

I love you all so, so much, even if I haven’t shown it these past years. Please believe me. It’s no one’s fault but my own. 

KZ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/spring-2014-ready-to-wear/chanel/slideshow/collection#87 This is the dress Katya is wearing. CAN WE ALL JUST TAKE A MOMENT. I remember seeing it on vogue.com at the time and falling completely in love, so I'm chuffed I have an excuse to work it into a fic somehow. 
> 
> Also I'm sure there are some fellow Harry Styles fans in the Trixya fandom so hiiiiiii ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for...Trixie Finds Out. 
> 
> I've been writing continuously and thought I'd finished yesterday but then I was like WHAT THE HELL and am writing the actual final chapter today. So all in all, you'll have 20 chapters of this wild ride of a story.
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading. Let me know your thoughts! I'm now also over on tumblr with the same username. Stay safe xx

Violet held her hand as she led her back into the lounge. Everyone had sat down in the time that they had been gone and Trixie rushed over to her, immediately taking her face in her hands and checking her over, shifting her so she bumped Violet, causing her to teeter on her heels. 

“What the hell happened? You had me in bits.” She demanded, all high pitched. Katya peered behind her where everyone was looking at them. Violet let go and tiptoed over to Pearl to whisper in her ear and convince her everything was fine, pressing a kiss to her questioning lips. Jason and Bobby sat amongst Trixie’s friends like they had all become very well acquainted and familiar with each other in Katya and Violet’s hasty absence. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll tell you later. It’s not really, uh...it’s better in private.” She forced herself to say, bringing her hands up to Trixie’s wrists to hold them, for it was all she could really do. 

Trixie laughed bitterly, turning to where Bob and Shea, in particular, were glaring daggers in Katya’s direction. Katya’s hands slipped away. Bob raised his eyebrows as if to say “I told you so” and Shea looked like she didn’t quite know how to react, other than to stare Katya down, to try and get something worthy out of her. 

“I promise you, I’ll explain. Just not here, not now.”

Trixie faced her again, sighing like she was giving up. “Fine.” She acquiesced. Katya caught Naomi side-eyeing Bob and Shea. Kim was looking out the window, clearly not wanting to involve herself in whatever silent transmission of messages was happening amongst the rest of the group. 

“Thank you.” Katya whispered. She didn’t want to think about how many times she’d repeated those two words recently. Trixie always saved her sorry ass. Katya couldn’t come up with a good enough reason why.

“Ok!” Jason stood up and clapped his hands, the same way he did during a training session with the same sheer amount of energy. “How’s about a fucking _dance_?”

Katya was glad for the distraction, especially when a few of the others laughed and agreed it would bring about the right kind of energy again. She resolutely did not look at Trixie, thinking it was best to give her space, instead pushing down her nausea to walk over to one of her drawers where she kept her JBL speaker. It was rather small but she assumed it would be loud enough for the amount of people there, and it wasn’t as if her living space was massive, or as if she genuinely cared. 

“Will this do for the music?” She asked Jason, who cheered when Bobby jumped up to offer his phone to play one of his supposedly infamous party playlists. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, Jason screaming when he saw one of his favourite gay club classics on it. Katya caught his eye, mouthed another ‘thank you’.

Katya spent the following couple of hours prancing purposefully awfully around Kim, who stubbornly stood stock still and threw out insults to her in several languages; wrapping her arms around Violet who, in turn, had her arms wrapped around Pearl so they were in some weird, mini conga formation; laughing at Pearl’s rigidness compared to Violet’s sensual hip rotations and Katya’s loose, supple limbs; being picked up and spun around by Jason, who was careful enough not to tug on her dress; and steadfastly blocking out how Trixie sought out Bob, Shea and Naomi, first conferring with them, then eventually relenting enough to dance with them.

She ran out of steam just after half past twelve, emotional exhaustion taking its toll physically so she had to lean against Violet or the kitchen counter to stop herself sitting down and potentially never getting up again. As much as the whole event didn’t turn out how she’d imagined her housewarming would go, she didn’t want it to draw to a close because that only meant her guests would leave and she’d have to figure out what the fuck to say to Trixie. 

The tension that had dampened her spirits started to build again, especially as Trixie didn’t come to her once. It was uncalled for and not at all helpful but Katya speculated about what might have been said about her, what doubts Bob and Shea and whoever else could have planted in Trixie’s head. It was easier to think like that (she usually wouldn’t have let herself), instead of acknowledging that those very doubts most likely came about because of what Trixie had told them or had originated from Trixie in the first place. Trixie’s friends were probably only acting out of concern and looking out for her, the rational part of Katya’s mind reminded her. 

“You’re done in, aren’t you?” Violet, during a lull in conversation, asked discreetly in her ear.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” 

Violet took a hold of her hand and squeezed. “Pearl and I will head off, hopefully everyone else will quickly follow suit. And maybe Trixie will stop shooting daggers at me every time you touch me.”

Katya rubbed her thumb along Violet’s knuckles, ignoring her second comment. “Thank you. Ugh, that’s all I’m fucking— I just can’t wait to not be indebted to people again. It’s like when...you know.”

“I know what you mean.” Violet said. “But it’s _not_ like that.”

Katya shook her head and shrugged. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. 

Violet kept to her word, kissing her goodbye on the cheek. Pearl did the same, taking the opportunity to reassure her things would be ok, whatever had happened. Katya smiled weakly and told her it was nice to finally meet her, that they should hang out soon. She meant it. Anyone who made Violet as happy as she did was a hero in Katya’s eyes.

Everyone else filtered out over the span of twenty minutes or so, Jason and Bobby leaving together (which Katya would have been more thrilled about were she not utterly preoccupied) and Bob and Shea pulling Trixie outside for a final chat, heads close together, on the sidewalk beside Bob’s car. Katya didn’t let herself watch them. She retreated to her bedroom, taking off her dress and makeup and putting on an oversized t-shirt that she sometimes slept in. She clambered onto her bed and hugged her knees to her chest and waited, coming up blank as for how the hell to proceed from there. 

She had faith that Trixie would come back into the house, at least. Such faith wasn’t strong enough to stop the shakes taking over her body, the cold sweats or her chattering teeth. She tried to replay Violet’s voice in her head, telling her she wasn’t insane, that this was unnerving, yes, most definitely - but not a reflection of her character. 

Katya heard the click of the front door, the trudge of Trixie’s heavy steps coming towards her. This was the moment of truth. And it was a cruel joke on reality’s part, Katya thought, that Trixie had been wanting Katya to be more open and honest in order for them to be on an equal footing, in order for their relationship to progress, but by her doing so would surely lead to the end of them.

Trixie came into focus, the only bit of colour against Katya’s monochrome walls. Katya clung to herself and hated how she felt like she had reverted back to the person she had spent so long learning not to be.

-

4th July 2014 

It’s like the fireworks and celebrations are mocking me.

I’m back in Marlborough and I’m only really writing right now because:   
1) I don’t want my previous entry to be the very last one.  
2) I hope one day I can read this all back, safe in the knowledge that everything is different.   
3) I’m due to start rehab at a centre in Arizona next week and, obviously, I’m not allowed any writing materials or means of communication.  
4) I want to remind my future self of just how bad it got and how fucking lucky I am to have escaped how I did, to have a family like I do.

Ultimately, this is more for someone else, not me, not me as I am now. I can’t properly picture her, but I can see a hazy view of my future incarnation and she’s another being, perhaps not removed from this history, but apart from it. Beyond. 

Spending so many days in the Psych ICU as Dan and my mom packed up my apartment and started organising what was going to happen to me next was...well, I don’t know. I wasn’t aware of much until a couple of weeks in and then before I could really determine what was going on, my parents were there, picking me up and driving all the way home for the night before they checked me in to a local private hospital as I was still behaving rather psychotically. I was so dazed, I consented to everything. It was like I finally had a chance to put my life in someone else’s hands, which isn’t what most people would want, I guess, but I knew I hadn’t done a good job thus far. Somebody else might as well have a shot. Faulty logic, maybe. I can almost see some humour in it now. 

It’s difficult to document, as much as I want to, because my ability to recall what happened even yesterday is enough to put too much strain on myself. But I need to make one thing very clear. My parents and Dan and Shannon - words can’t describe what pure, untainted, highly selfless actions they tirelessly did for me, day after day, hour after hour, every waking second and then some, for my safety and my health and my future. I still don’t know all the details and I don’t think I’m ready to know for a damn fucking while. But I do know that they’ve done their absolute best by me and always have, despite my worst symptoms and side effects. 

This place in Arizona is meant to be the best in the country for substance abuse and addiction. Seeing all that my family has done for me is enough to convince me to try my hardest when I’m there, so I have the means to do so when I’m out, too. I don’t want to be the tortured soul anymore, the woman wasting everything she has chasing after something she will never attain. 

I saw her one more time, on the ward. Even in my delirious state, I managed to capture her, sketching her on a small notepad with a blunt pencil I stole from one of the nurses as she was finishing up my chart. She was by the door, waving at me, a tear trickling down her cheek. 

I’ve stuck that drawing to the back cover of this diary. That’s the last I’ll see of her.

So. Here’s to Katya, five/ten/twenty years from now. May she rest (and live) in peace.

KZ

-

Trixie flopped across the bottom of the bed. She had taken off her shoes and her headband was askew, revealing where it had rubbed off some of the foundation on her forehead. Katya couldn’t decide whether to lie down next to her and comfort her or whether to keep to herself, in order to keep from unravelling completely. 

She tested the waters by reaching out to rescue an errant curl caught between the side of Trixie’s breast and her arm, tense by her body. When Trixie didn’t react, she stroked her bicep gently, as if too much would send her running. She willed Trixie to say something or do something, anything, so she could adapt from there. She figured, however, that Trixie was hoping for the same thing from her.

“Bob and Shea and Naomi have a problem with me, don’t they.” Katya stated, not needing to ask. It wasn’t what was really concerning her, of course, but it was a way to breach the crux of the matter without diving head first into the abyss of mental revelations and her dramatic and depressing and ludicrous life story. 

“Kind of.” Trixie said to the ceiling, her stacked lashes fanning upwards. “But only because of the problems I have with you.”

“You…” Katya stammered. “What—”

Trixie slammed her hands down on the mattress and sat up, withering Katya with her blazing, igneous glare. “I’m not a paranoid person, never have been but...you don’t have Facebook or Twitter, your Instagram doesn’t even have your full name on it and has no pictures of family or friends. You didn’t have photos of anyone in your apartment before Bobby and I sorted that for you and...and I talked this through with everyone, like normal people do, right? I asked them if that was a warning sign or if I was overreacting but they said they didn’t think so, that it was a bit strange, especially after I had tried so hard to glean some stuff from you but...I just felt like I kept searching and searching and there was very little given back to me, for all that I was saying to you. So I googled you.”

_Oh God_. Katya’s heart raced. Here it comes, she thought, Trixie had managed to find something in the deepest, darkest corners of the internet that she and Dan had somehow missed, she was going to put her on trial for it, put her through the past like a dirty dress through a mangle; she would crush her or flay her with her exposure. She struggled to swallow, her mouth too dry and her throat constrictive and tight like she was being strangled.

“Katya, why is there literally _nothing_ about you, no evidence that you even exist?”

Katya tried to speak, to move her lips and form words around her tongue, but it was futile. It was as if her voice had been taken away from her.

“You say you’re an artist but there’s not one mention of you on any gallery website, there’s no artwork that comes up when I search images, there’s nothing even on an old high school or college page. I typed your name in with New York and got nothing. I searched your name with Violet’s and all I got was millions of photos of her work, of her at events and fashion shows and fancy parties. I even looked up your brother and sister to see if they were real and, yeah, sure enough, Shannon Zamolodchikova is a veterinary pathologist in Portland, Oregon and Dan, short for Daniil, is a partner in a law firm in Boston. I feel like I’ve gone fucking crazy, like, half the time I think I’ve totally overstepped and you’re just private and you’re a wonderful listener but not much of a soul barer and that’s just how you are, and then the rest of the time I’m left wondering who the fuck really _are you_?”

“ _Trix_. I’m—”

“And like, hearing myself now, it sounds like I’ve just based this off of what’s online but that’s far from it. We’ve had plenty of conversations about this kinda shit and, yeah, I suppose there are things I haven’t told you either, like how my step dad tried to kill me when I was younger and how I was emancipated and had to go live with my grandparents because everything was so fucking scary and unsafe at home, and maybe that makes me a hypocrit for begrudging you your secrets but maybe, just maybe, while you’ve apparently fallen in love with me, I’ve been weighing up just how much of myself I can really give to you without opening myself up to danger all over again.”

“Oh my god.” Katya covered her useless mouth with her fumbling hands. Trixie was untouchable, then, and Katya wasn’t going to push it and be the one to obliterate her trust. 

Watching Trixie blink away tears, one escaping anyway and running down her cheek, her makeup not budging regardless, Katya had a choice. She could tell Trixie she wasn’t a threat, that she was just a damaged person who had done more than she thought she was capable of to build a brand new life for herself, that she was a recovering drug addict and alcoholic who had made bad decisions because she thought they were right in the moment, when everything seemed so desperate and out of her control, and that she had seen Trixie as her guardian angel through the best and worst of it all. Or, she could show her. 

“I want to be with you, Kat.” Trixie spoke over a sob. “I think you’re hysterical and clever and considerate and I still stand by what I said, that you’ve treated me and, frankly, spoiled me better than anyone before. I think you make me relax and indulge like I haven’t ever really let myself until now, and I know that when we’re together just going about our day, it’s so natural. We can just exist in the same space and it _works_. I just...I can’t shake off this doubt, and I don’t think I should have to.”

Katya made her decision. She scrambled off the bed and raced over to her purse, to where she kept her keys. She could sense Trixie’s inquisition, her questioning look bore into the back of her, as she hurriedly rummaged to the bottom of her bag until she felt the cold metal against her sweaty fingers. Clasping them in her fist, she whirled round and dropped to her knees before Trixie where she sat up on the edge of the bed. 

“No,” Katya finally agreed, “You shouldn’t. Your instincts haven’t misled you, you’re not crazy. What happened with Violet and I earlier, and what’s been going on with me this whole time, it’s...out of this world, a real cruel twist of fate. You wouldn’t believe me if I said it all straight up but I do exist, I am Katya Zamolodchikova and I was and am an artist and I have tried my damned hardest to protect you. I probably haven’t done right by you in doing that but...I’m not going to defend myself because everything you said— how could I? How _dare_ I? When you…” Katya shook her head, struggling to make any sort of sense.

Her knees began to ache but the pain, her suffering, was irrelevant. All she could do was let Trixie interpret for herself. Trixie had been seeking answers, researching on her own and piecing together what she could. It was only right that Katya gave her the materials to finally get the real picture. 

“This is going to sound weird and I don’t want to panic you or make you feel like I’m sending you somewhere dangerous. I’m not asking for anything else but for you to trust me on that. It’s— I, uh, these are the keys to my storage unit.” She held out her open hand. It was remarkably sturdy. “Unit 15 at Public Storage on Glendale Boulevard. There's a box of diaries, right as you open the door. Look at that first, before anything else. That’s all I’m asking. Then you might understand why I’ve...” 

Trixie paused, eyes darting from the keys to Katya’s face, searching. Katya hadn’t thought of what she would do if Trixie refused. She readily accepted that such a proposition after Trixie had disclosed her traumatic childhood might not be the best of timings, but it was her only option. She had never entertained the thought of someone else reading her diaries. During all the years after her stint in rehab, she had hidden them away as if doing so would enable her to be free from their contents. And, she supposed, had she not met Trixie, that might have worked out for her. But Trixie changed everything.

When Trixie took the keys from her, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, this is creepy as fuck, Kat.” The hint of a smile graced Trixie’s face. “I’d expect no less from you though, witchy woman.” She inspected the keys as if they would give her a clue as to exactly what she would find. 

Katya could have cried to hear her mock her again. She huffed a laugh, eyes watery, and got to her feet. “Can I hug you?” She asked, distraught that she had to but loathe not to respect Trixie’s boundaries.

Trixie nodded. Katya sat herself down beside her, turning her body towards her and tentatively placing her hands on Trixie’s shoulders before smoothing them down her back, relishing in her heat and solidity. She brought Trixie close so that her face slotted into place at her neck, so that she could smell her and loosen, the way someone does when they’ve shaken off all inhibitions to be the person they truly are.

Katya mumbled into Trixie’s soft skin. “It’s late, you can sleep here before...if you want. I can sleep on the sofa or—”

“No. I need to go there now, before it all becomes too daunting. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing.”

Katya hummed against her in recognition, rubbing her nose against her, not wanting to part but sharing the same sentiments as her. 

“Please call me when you’re done. You might not want to speak to me but...at least tell me that and I’ll leave you be. I promise, whatever you think of me after, I’ll do whatever you need of me, even if that means giving you up.” Katya brought herself face to face with Trixie. She didn’t want to witness her visible fear but she also couldn’t stand distancing herself even a second sooner than necessary. 

Trixie, speechless, brought her hand up to Katya’s face, her thumb stroking the bags under her eyes. Then, she held tight onto the keys so her knuckles turned white, stood up and rolled her shoulders with a groan. 

“Call me at any point.” Katya reminded her but Trixie was halfway out of the room already. 

Katya curled back in on herself and cuddled the rumpled covers where Trixie had sat. She listened out for the shutting of the front door and strained to hear Trixie’s engine start up outside. She brought her face to the sheets as if Trixie’s scent lingered there. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, to pass however long a time it would take for Trixie to contact her again. 

Of course, it wouldn’t come and the whirring of her mind only got worse and worse as the minutes morphed ever so slowly into hours. Her thoughts crashed upon her like relentless waves, making her wonder if she had done the right thing or if she truly was the monster Trixie had said she didn’t think she was, so that she was worn out solely from holding herself in place. 

The silence of her surroundings taunted her.

When she had to give in and accept she wouldn’t attain any kind of rest, she shuffled into the living room and tidied up. She put all the leftover food into containers, washed the plates and bowls and glasses, and even swept the floors and arranged the cushions on her sofa like she had seen Trixie do. Then she saw them, the bottles Trixie had bought in. There was still some unopened champagne and cans of IPA. Without much hesitation, she went over to her window and opened it as wide as it would go. She took the bottles, one by one, and threw them out so the glass smashed and spread wide over the concrete below. She opened every can, her index finger digging into each pull-tab so a pink indentation began to form on the underside of her knuckle, and flung them out too, the clank of the metal as they emptied and rolled echoing out onto the street. 

She washed her hands in her bathroom sink and laughed until she sank down to sit on her toilet seat, bawling, calling out only for no one to hear. The sun had risen by the time she collapsed into bed. She smothered her face into her pillow and cried herself to sleep, the darkness bringing no real relief. 

-

It was midday and Katya had still not heard from Trixie. She tried to make breakfast but ended up just blending up a smoothie as she didn’t think she could stomach food, the drink difficult enough to keep down. She wretched when she brushed her teeth and put so many salts and bath bombs in her bath that the smell gave her the closest thing to a chemically induced high she would ever experience again. 

She made sure she properly got dressed, pulling on her trusty mid-thigh Levi denim shorts and a black Garbage t-shirt with corset detailing at the lower back. She winced solemnly to herself at the print on the front - white bones spelling out ‘I HATE LOVE’. And then she waited. 

It got to four o’clock before she really had to _do something_. She pulled on her Converse and her darkest sunglasses, shoved her hair up into a messy bun and grabbed her phone, checking it like she had been doing every minute since she woke. She burst out her front door. There was only one place she needed to go.

She turned right onto Grafton Street, her pace quick and urgent, then passed the 7-Eleven on to Glendale Boulevard. It was hot out, still, and she felt damp and bedraggled as she reached her destination. She greeted the woman on reception and sped down the left hand side corridor. It was grey and dark and eerily quiet, just as her apartment had seemed. She turned the corner and headed to her unit, its door shut but, as she discovered when trying the handle, not locked. Her heart raced, the chance of finding Trixie there evoking an unparalleled adrenaline spike. She swung open the door, causing it to bang on the wall, only to find nothing. _Nothing_.

She stepped right inside, as if that would suddenly magic all her belongings back. She checked her phone again. _Nothing_.

Her natural instinct was to call Trixie. She was panicking and jittery and she could only just about unlock her phone. She went to press the green button at the bottom of her screen and then remembered what she’d promised. 

She called Violet instead.

“How did it go?” She said as soon as she picked up. “I was going to message you but I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Katya filled her in. “So now I don’t have a fucking clue what to do. I can’t go round to her place, that’ll make me come across even crazier than I already have if she’s seen all my shit and not just...I dunno, taken it and destroyed it or something.”

“She won’t have done that, what would that achieve?”

Katya shook her head, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and began to pace, since there was space to. “I don’t know. I’m just freaking out because, because as much as I, uh, despise what’s written in those fucking diaries, I, uh, they still mean something to me. I’ve kept them because they’re a representation of who I was and what I did to get myself here. And I’ve scrubbed so much of myself away everywhere else, that if she took those too...I dunno, d’you understand what I’m saying?”

Violet assured her that she did and that Trixie wouldn’t have destroyed them. “I don’t know exactly what she’s done but you know her. She’s not mean spirited.”

“No, no she’s not. God, Vi, she told me what she’d been through as a child and that’s not even sunk in yet. I’ve not been able to offer whatever I can to her because of all this shit and I just...I just want to be with her. I love her, for fuck’s sake, I _love_ her.”

“Listen, she’ll probably need some time to digest everything ‘cause, if I’m being honest, _I’ve_ not even done that yet. So give her the space you told her you would and I’m sure she’ll come back and you can talk it all through, you fuckin’ dykes.”

Katya cracked a smile. “Yeah...I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now go home and draw or work out or whatever fucking weird activity you do to bring yourself out of your shit. The world’s still turning, you’ve survived this far, don’t wallow and mope now. And don’t give up the belief you have, in her or yourself.”

“Y’know once you get wrinkly and old and ugly, you would make a great motivational speaker.” Katya quipped, making one last small circle in her unit.

“Bye, cunt.” Violet signed off and hung up.

Katya left the door open and made her way back out into the sunshine. She didn’t feel better about the situation but Violet helped her see that a little patience had the possibility of going a long way. 

At home, she went straight to her studio, darting to the sketchbook she had been using since she and Trixie met in the real world. Katya turned to the first page, to the drawing she had done of Trixie coming out of the bathroom stall, when Katya had first laid eyes on her and had to document the sight, too wondrous and perplexing and abstruse to comprehend. Trixie was a marvel, her existence beautiful and overwhelming. Katya lightly traced her fingers over the outlines of Trixie’s body, thinking only of what it was like to actually feel her. Then, she flicked through her sketchbook to her most recent work. The work she hadn’t let herself over analyse or attach any meaning or intention to. 

She had mentioned to Fame and Violet her increasing willingness to consider creating again and, as always, it was Trixie that had inspired her to actually test the waters and see what she could come up with. Trixie had no idea, of course, but Katya had depicted her in all her many glories. Throughout the proceeding weeks, she had tried out putting those drawings of her onto some clothing designs.

Nothing was polished or certain in its formation. Katya, when working with Gucci, hadn’t actually sketched out models with the attire on their paper thin bodies, instead drawing the clothing as viewed flat from the front and the back, and sometimes the sides too. It was a strange way of doing things but she’d had no former experience with costume or fashion design and it was the simplest way to reduce her often giant paintings to manageable, manufacturable and wearable size. She had wanted to have a go at depicting her ideas on a body this time around, however, and had enjoyed the vitality it brought to the clothing when she could shade the folds and dimensions of material, showing how it might move with the person potentially wearing it. 

Amongst thinking up a continuation of the kind of things she had created with Gucci, she had also experimented with designing items which had different prints upon them or were plain in material but jazzy or outlandish in shape or cut. As much as she sometimes wanted to reclaim her previous work, expand on it and show her development in that way, she aimed to explore what she could manifest without such restraint, so she could use her experience with and knowledge of fashion that she had built up to create the unexpected, or at least a divergence from her former theme. Knowing Trixie now, she wasn’t at liberty to commit her image to paper, then to material, then to other people’s possessions. Trixie wasn’t hers to use in that manner (in any manner). She had to learn how to conceive and construct art that didn’t centre around Trixie, as well. 

It had been famously said that life imitates art - art, for her, had imitated what she had wanted out of life, what she had detrimentally fixated on in her distorted perception, not what life actually was or could have been. To reach out beyond what she was comfortable centring her existence and art upon was, in her eyes, a mark of her recovery, her willingness to separate herself from her addictions and what those addictions had brought about in the real and the make believe.

What was more difficult was knowing where to go, what to aim towards. She had forever seemed to have fallen into opportunities whilst everyone around her appeared to work themselves close to ragged, sometimes only to be afforded much less than her. She had learned that such a constant feeling of not deserving achievement was officially titled imposter syndrome and, whilst it could be debated that every element of the human psyche was nowadays given some sort of name or diagnosis (whether to validate or to accelerate), said title did sum her circumstances up succinctly. 

That evening, she sketched out a combination of designs, some with Trixie’s body, pale and luminous and captured in lambent movement, contrasting the blacks and dark berry reds of the rest of the garment, some in garish, bold prints of her own inception. She used a mishmash of her HBs, coloured pencils and fine line pens, testing out what would accurately convey the ideas in her head the most. Every so often, she checked her phone but, seeing no notifications, managed to focus better on her work than she would have otherwise given herself credit for. She assumed Trixie wouldn’t talk to her that day at all and having an activity that required such close attention to detail occupied her. 

It freed her, too. She wasn’t becoming slave to Trixie’s contact.

She drew until her neck and shoulders ached from hunching over her desk. She sat back, rubbing her muscles, and surveyed what she’d done. It wasn’t half bad, considering. 

Katya left her sketchbook open on the last page she’d used, tidied some of her other supplies away and went upstairs, belatedly realising her appetite was starting to come back. She ordered in, still, but was relieved that she hadn’t neglected her basic needs completely. Small victories. And her large pizza disappeared pretty quickly.

By the time she had finished eating, she was yawning into her hand. She did some yoga nidra in her bedroom, undressed then got into bed. Checking her phone for the final time, she briefly considered sending Trixie her favourite heart emoji, just to let her know she was thinking of her, but she recognised Trixie knew that already and she didn’t want to undermine the positive behaviours she had achieved in maintaining despite the uncertainty of everything else. Something as monumental as this could have seriously triggered her or led her astray. She was proud of surviving the day. It was more than enough. 

-

Katya was in a gallery. Its expansive white walls and painted murals, coming off and out of the canvases positioned around, were clean and bright and safe. She wandered alone, able to enjoy the peace and serenity of surrounding herself only with art, only with the inanimate. Fixed, it all seemed, in time and place and memory. She came to the first piece, admiring the muted blues and reds and yellows of the vague female subject and taking the time to study the lack of detail, the choice of unfilled blanks. Specificity was not always a sign of attuned vision.

She moved on to the next, the sound of her footsteps muffled on the plain concrete floor. She felt herself become immersed, not so much in the art itself but in the consummation of it. A warmth spread from her right side to her left, until the whole of her body was pleasantly tingling. 

Trixie was there. Katya only realised when she made to move on, catching her out of the corner of her eye - the black triangle shapes of her eyeliner, the challenging pout of her overdrawn lips, the iridescent glitter and highlighter illuminating certain points of her face.

They kept apart, near to each other but not touching. Though it was comfortable and satisfying like balmy weather, Katya could feel a difference. They smiled at one another and turned to the next canvas. Trixie stepped closer like she was finally going to take Katya’s hand in the way she had yearned for. She paused at the last moment, the pulsing of Katya’s heartbeat amplified so it escaped her liminality and filled the space they shared until it got too loud and insistent and…

Katya jolted awake, her phone vibrating on her bedside table. She scrambled to see the name flashing up on her screen. Trixie was calling her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo everyone. Hope you're all safe and well. Thank you for reading! Enjoy...

“Oh my god, Trixie.” Katya blurted out, all her words blending into one. She sat up, her sheets pooling around her stomach, and blinked a couple of times to clear her vision. “Are you alright?”

“I guess…” Her voice came quiet and reluctant, like she had psyched herself up to ring but now she was actually doing it, her bravado had waned and the seriousness of what she had read and witnessed was sinking in, catching up with her.

Katya had managed to keep her guilt at bay for a while, if only to keep herself sane. Knowing she had continually lied to Trixie in one way or another was bad enough, but hearing the effect that had had on her when she discovered the truth was a whole other level of distressing.

“Trix, I’m...I’m just so sorry about everything.” She took a deep breath. “I’d completely understand if you never wanted to even think about me again, never mind remain in contact with me, and I want you to know you aren’t obliged to discuss what you saw but...that’s why I’ve been this way. I do love you, the version of you I didn’t make up, and I can’t thank you enough for letting me get to know you and...I’m sorry.” Realising she was rambling, she huffed a sad laugh. “You must think I’m absolutely crazy.”

“It’s certainly not what I expected but, then again, there was a point where I was seriously wondering if you were a murderer on the run or something so…”

It shouldn’t have given her hope, hearing Trixie have a little joke with her, but it did. That was always what she had been in awe of, how their humour aligned, how they could be on the same wavelength with a morbid idea or a gross, crude skit. 

She tried her luck. “Can I see you so we can talk about all this? And so, like, I can put my stuff back and you can maybe get a few minutes peace from it once I’m done.”

There was a short pause down the other end of the line. “Yeah, sure. Come over, I’ve called off work for the next few days. I’ve not really slept.”

“Ok…” Katya got out of bed and began to pace like she had in her unit, nodding to herself as if to convince herself that this was happening. “I didn’t anticipate you taking it, y’know.”

“There was just...so much. I had to. Wait, when did you go there?”

“When I hadn’t heard from you. I just wanted to check, I wasn’t _checking_ up on you or anything.” Katya quickened her steps, running her hand through her knotty hair.

“Don’t worry, that makes sense.” Trixie trailed off and Katya didn’t know how to fill the silence. 

“See you in a bit, then?” She asked, needing the extra confirmation. 

“Yeah.” Trixie murmured and abruptly put down the phone. 

“ _Fuck_!” Katya shouted at her phone, screen now black. She hadn’t at all mentally prepared enough to see Trixie’s face first thing that morning, for hashing everything out with her and, if she were being realistic, being told to stay away. There was no way Trixie would still want to be with her and there was even less chance of Katya convincing her, because it wasn’t her place - after everything, she knew she had to ensure Trixie was one hundred percent clear. She couldn’t make any informed decisions if she wasn’t, in fact, informed. Katya needed Trixie to do the right thing because, if she didn’t, Katya would have to, and that would be the hardest choice she would ever have to stand by. Harder than quitting drugs, than dragging herself back to a stable reality.

Katya went through the motions of getting ready, barely taking notice of what she was doing until she got too hot from the blanket of steam in her bathroom where she had zoned out standing in the shower. She set her air con to an arctic temperature as she got dressed, pulling on a baggy t-shirt dress after spraying a truly suffocating amount of deodorant on and rushing through her makeup. She flapped about trying to figure out if she had anything to carry her stuff back with her in but, when she checked the time, she gave up and figured she’d think of something when it came to it.

She ordered an Uber and forced her wobbly legs to get her out of the house.

The journey seemed to drag. She was as familiar with the route to Trixie’s as she was with the back of her own hand but it didn’t help, the churning of her stomach and the pulsing of her temples making being out in the world close to unbearable. It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place - she was desperate to see Trixie, to see for herself that she was alright, to smell the scent of her hair products waft her way as she moved towards her, to feel her presence, to experience how she lit up any room they were both in, but she was terrified all the same to face and pull apart her past before her, with her. What if it was all for nothing?

Knocking on Trixie’s front door, Katya recalled doing so for the first time, heart racing with completely different feelings. She thought about all the times since that she had waited for Trixie to greet her in that very spot and scratched at her neck nervously, listening out for any sign of movement, for Trixie’s steps on her wooden floor. 

Then, Katya was confronted by the sight of her. She looked awful, not in her appearance necessarily (because she was always gorgeous to Katya), but in how red and puffy her eyes were, telling Katya all she needed to know, in how her shoulders were slumped and her stance wasn’t self assured like usual, but was a visible sign of her keeping herself to herself, insular and as protected as possible. She was wearing her joggers and a t-shirt and she held onto her own arms like she was hugging herself, giving herself the comfort she would have otherwise sought from Katya. It tore at Katya.

“Hi.” She barely said.

“Hi.” Trixie repeated, equally as weak. It was easier over the phone, when Trixie’s turmoil was only in her head, not a veracity she couldn’t ignore, right there in front of her. 

Trixie wordlessly led her inside, straight to her room. The former intimacy of it stung. She felt like an imposter as she entered. It was still tidy but for the spread of diaries and the smaller pieces of artwork Katya had never got round to getting out of her possession like she had the rest. It looked as if Trixie hadn’t quite known what to do with it all once she’d taken it from Katya’s unit. There were some canvases and prints propped up against the wall where her window was, some resting on a space she had cleared on her vanity and Katya’s diaries were mainly organised chronologically on Trixie’s floor. The last one, however, the one with the final drawing of Trixie in the hospital, was on her bed as if she had only just finished with it. 

Katya couldn’t ascertain how long it would have taken to read everything. After taking her shoes off, she stood awkwardly in the middle of Trixie’s fluffy rug, trying not to scrunch her toes into it like she had formed a habit of doing. Katya watched Trixie sit down cross legged on her bed, pulling the diary into her lap. She didn’t know what the hell to do with herself. 

“Sit down, I think this’ll take a while.”

Katya nodded as if she had been told off. It wasn’t Trixie’s intention, of course, but she couldn’t help her viewpoint. She thought she deserved it, for as much as she had been pleased with herself for refraining from completely submerging in self hatred. 

Katya perched at the end of Trixie’s bed, careful not to touch her. She looked at her hands as they wrung, damp from perspiration.

“What happened next?” Trixie asked. Katya’s head snapped up to check she was hearing correctly. “I mean, you wrote you were going to Arizona but, like…” She petered off, waving her hand about. Katya knew what she was seeking, the confirmation that she had dutifully completed therapy and had accessed enough resources to finally be let out and eased back into living amongst normal people again. She resented how, internally, she still got defensive, even if only for a few seconds. She reminded herself that Trixie wanted to know to understand Katya better now and she was entitled to some reassurance that Katya wasn’t still completely off the rails, given most of the evidence pointed towards the contrary. 

“My parents flew with me to Phoenix and hired a car to drive me to the rehab centre which was, like, almost halfway to Tucson. I was still pretty out of it, not sleeping, thinking I was dying at the drop of a hat when, really, it was likely heart palpitations from all the shit I’d been pumping into my body. I did a detox program first for about, uh, ten days and then I started the proper inpatient residential. That was about four months, initially, but I requested for an extension until the end of the year. I was so fucking lucky that almost all the staff and everyone there was amazing and that the treatment was genuinely holistic and psychoanalytic, which appealed to me more because, as much as I could lie in AA meetings and shit like that, I couldn’t get away with anything with my therapist. She really held me to account, which I’d never experienced before, really, so that was good for me. My extension was approved and I stayed there until I was moved into the outpatient phase the day before Christmas Eve.”

“So you went home for Christmas?” Trixie inquired. Katya found it curious, the details she focussed on, what information she found important, in the moment, to gather. 

"Yeah. It was incredible and fucking bizarre. I travelled by myself until everyone picked me up in Boston and it was, it was like being rebirthed or— I was super aware of the chance of becoming really, uh, threatened by the amount of people around after having been so isolated for so long. I got through it and my mom had done up my room with loads of my stuff and she cried from relief that she had me back.”

“That was, what, five years ago? You were living with your parents all that time?”

Katya nodded. “It seems like a long time to someone who hasn’t been in a program like that. Like, the first month or so of being in Arizona was still so, uh, murky and kinda almost non-linear, especially as my therapist helped me revisit many earlier points in my life. So, even with my extension, I felt— it wasn’t as if I wasn’t _ready_ , because they had equipped me really well. It was more like… I hadn’t caught up with the passage of time in the real world.”

“That makes sense, being so removed from everything and everyone else.” Trixie started to mindlessly play with the corner of Katya’s diary with her index finger.

Katya nodded, watching Trixie’s movements to keep herself talking without thinking too much. “The whole of twenty fifteen was a bit of a blur. I didn’t do much, just focussed on establishing a routine that I could gradually add more and more to. I spent a lot of time with my mom. To start, we just went about the day. I helped her with whatever she was working on at home then began to come along to her volunteering posts a couple of times a week and then, once we were more used to being around each other again, I could start properly healing our relationship, filling in the blanks for her to help her understand what had happened.”

“She seems incredibly supportive.”

“She is. She doesn’t know about, about y— what I kept seeing, but everything else...I couldn’t ask for better parents.” Katya swallowed, deciding it was not the time to bring up their visit. Not yet. “By the end of the year, I was studying a lot more, making sure to keep my mind active and engaged and challenged, so in twenty sixteen I set myself up as an online translator for French and Russian. It paid quite well, not that that made any difference to me, and some of the shit I was sent to work on was buck wild. Some stuff was really interesting, too, so I liked it. I started getting visitors, as well, Violet and Fame and Amy coming up to see me when they could, and we rekindled our friendships and laid everything out. Amy was still sober so we could cheer each other on, like I did with Fame. I made sure I was a lot more transparent with Violet and she surprised me with how insightful she was and consequently how helpful.”

“Did you two…?” Trixie blushed, clearly embarrassed that she asked such a question considering the real topic at hand. 

“Not at first. She was happy to but I still had things to work through. But then…” She shrugged. “So, yeah...that was pretty much my life until the end of last year, when my parents saw I was bored and getting down a lot more. We talked it through and I suggested LA because of its size and good weather and because Violet had moved here in twenty eighteen. She thought it would suit me and she wasn’t wrong. I managed to find my place with the help of my parents’ friends and, coming here, everything got brighter again. I felt like myself, the me I’d come to be post rehab. I was actually fucking happy and _chill_.”

“And then I came along.” Trixie added. 

“Yeah...yeah you did.” After explaining so much, Katya was suddenly lost for words.

Trixie hummed contemplatively, pulling her knees up to her chest so she could rest her chin on top of them. “I can’t get my head round it, Kat, I can’t lie. I was in a state of denial for so much of your diaries but then I turned to the final page of your last one and saw _my fucking face_ staring back at me, and looking so fucking sad too, that I...I... _fucking hell_.”

“I know. Believe me, I’ve tried to figure out an explanation, any fucking reason how this could have happened. I have no idea. I’m sorry, Trix, I’m just so sorry. I should never have got involved with you but... _fuck_. When I saw you that first time, behind Violet at the makeup station, I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, y’know, like, oh you’ve been doing so well, let’s test just how stable you actually are now, hey? And then I really did see you, properly, in that bathroom and you made that comment and it was _funny_ and...I couldn’t let it rest, I had to get to know you. First to see if there was any way I had legit seen you when I was younger, but you said you’d never been to Boston, and I’d never been to Wisconsin, so then I wanted to dig deeper, see if there was anything else at all. You can understand that, right? I was terrified and fascinated and I needed answers. Instead, I came to really fucking like you and I wanted to get to know you, the person, not the Trixie hallucination I had gone nuts for.”

“Jesus, Kat, have you heard yourself? How can I reasonably believe this? Any of it? The odds are really not in your favour right now.” Trixie shook her head like she was trying to rid herself of all that she had consumed during the past few days. 

“I know.” Katya said, looking out of Trixie’s window to stop herself pleading with Trixie to believe her, to believe in what they had shared together. Katya then went on to clarify why there was no information about her online and why Trixie, when searching for her, would never find anything.

“Do you think it’s helped, doing all of that?” 

“Definitely. I don’t want my old work on show anymore. I want...I want an opportunity to reinvent my public persona and what I produce, when the time comes. Now I’ve met you, it seems so, so wrong to, uh, publicise my art and my Gucci collection that has your face and body and whatever all over it.”

Trixie huffed a laugh. “If I wasn’t so tired and confused, I’d probably be quite amazed that I’m all over a _Gucci_ collection.” Katya managed to smile, wondering what Trixie’s peers in rural Wisconsin would say if they saw her image associated with such a luxury brand. “I...I’d like to see it. All the clothes.”

“Understandable, you are technically the face of it.” Katya gestured for Trixie’s laptop. She decidedly didn’t wait for the brush of their fingers as Trixie passed it over and, when she still kept her distance, she tried her hardest not to deflate. She logged into her Google Drive where she thought it best to keep old photos, screenshots of reviews and articles and Vogue pieces before they got taken down, like an archive. She pulled up the pictures that had been taken at New York fashion week, the first showing of the collection and the first time she got a true taste of the pomp and circumstance of the industry. She handed Trixie her laptop back and watched her go through each photo.

Trixie leaned forward so her face was close to her screen. She bit and worried at her lip, brow creasing as her eyes squinted to pick up on the details. Her manicured fingernails softly scratched her trackpad as she scrolled, slow and meticulous, and Katya could easily envision her at work, studying a client in the same direct way. Katya’s heart raced, the longer Trixie took. For as much as it was like baring her soul, and for as difficult she knew it would be for Trixie to witness, she wanted Trixie to like it, to approve, perhaps not from a personal standpoint, but as someone who had very distinct aesthetics, who could appreciate and recognise beauty and value.

Katya turned back to face the window, waiting for the sunlight to hit her.

“Is this really how you saw me?” Trixie’s voice, after a long stretch of quiet, made Katya twitch. Katya watched a bird perch on the fence separating Trixie’s place from next door’s yard. It hopped about for a few seconds before pausing, only to start it’s jaunty little movements all over again.

“It’s how I saw you once I’d had my way with you. I regarded you as like this goddess, this pure and untainted being who graced me and who I only sullied and, uh, I dunno, took advantage of or something. I took and took and took, it seemed, and when I put you to paper, I abused that light and warmth and comfort you gave me.” The bird flew away but Katya kept her eyes on the spot it had inhabited. “When I had to, no, when I made the decision to sell you, I was convinced I was doing you harm, so that’s what I was driven to depict, even amongst the bright colours and the striking looks and makeup I painted.”

“You didn’t say that to the press though.”

“No.” Katya told her what she had come up with instead.

“I can definitely interpret that, too.” Trixie closed the laptop lid down and pushed it aside, like she’d seen enough for a lifetime. “We view women as objects to put together and tear down as we see fit. Men are men but women are made of moving parts, built based on what men want or demand, or what standards are set for us.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, if nothing else, I’m glad my face was associated with a message like that, instead of just some shallow campaign to bring in even more money to a label that overcharges more than I can comprehend.” Trixie flopped back onto her pillow, shifting to lie down so her feet touched Katya’s bent legs.

Katya didn’t move. “How are you feeling?” She asked.

Trixie rubbed at her face, leaving one arm flung over her forehead. “Like my whole world’s been flipped upside down, y’know, the usual.”

Katya could have slapped herself. “Yeah that was a stupid question wasn’t it.”

“It’s better than not asking at all.” Trixie commented, closing her eyes and groaning. 

“What can I do?” Katya felt useless and lost and like she should have known how to ease Trixie’s disorientation, like the strength of her affection towards her could have guided her when, really, it made things even more difficult to navigate. 

“I don’t know. I’m sure there’s still so much left to unpack but...I don’t think I can listen to anything else for a while. I just want to sleep, to be honest. I must have got, like, two hours since I went to your storage unit.”

Katya’s chest tightened as she scanned over Trixie’s face, her lax body. “I’ll go then. Make sure you get a good rest.” She made to stand but Trixie called out, asking her to stay with her. “Why?” Katya couldn’t help wondering aloud.

“Because you’re still you and I’m still me and we still have to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do and I might not be certain of what I want from you in the future but right now I want you to stroke my back ‘til I drift off and look after me to remind me that that’s the person I’ve been dating all this time.” Trixie turned onto her side, an unmistakable invitation for Katya to lie beside her and provide for her. 

“Are you sure?” Katya checked, nevertheless. “How can you be certain I’m not still some... _insane person_ who might harm you?”

Trixie sighed, impatient. “Because you never were that. From what I’ve read and from what you’ve told me, you were someone who hadn’t properly accepted and dealt with your addictions and the causes behind them, and you only ever posed a real threat to yourself, not others, despite what you thought, especially at the end. So for now, shut the fuck up, fucking spoon me and let me savour it before I have to start making decisions.”

Katya had vowed to herself to do what was most moral, to wade through the difficult to get to the other side, the healthier approach. Listening to Trixie’s demands, however, left her powerless. She crawled up Trixie’s bed and cautiously settled in beside her, not touching her but sharing her space more intimately that she had in what seemed like forever. She could already hear Trixie’s breathing slow down and deepen but she didn’t let herself think it was because of her presence. Trixie was exhausted, Katya reminded herself so she didn’t confuse her eventual relaxation for something else. 

Reaching out to pull Trixie’s hair away from where it tumbled down her back, Katya rested her head against the same pillow as her. When Trixie’s back was free from obstruction, Katya placed her hand in between her shoulder blades. She didn’t move it, just felt Trixie’s body heat permeate her, felt how her ribcage expanded as she inhaled. The signs of life. She watched her own fingers apply more pressure as she began to trail her hand down over the cotton of her t-shirt. Katya missed the feel of her skin but she was astounded enough to have the honour of doing as much as she was. She had only considered what to do were she not ever allowed again. 

Trixie let out a tender murmur of appreciation once Katya had established a pattern. It was muscle memory coming back to her, making her think the soppy shit she usually didn’t entertain - that her hand was made for this very purpose, that her abilities served to heal Trixie’s aches and pains, that she was destined to be there. 

She didn’t know how long she kept her light caresses up for but the familiarity and the pleasure of doing it for Trixie smoothed out her own burdens enough so that she fell asleep too, breathing in time with Trixie like they were harmonised. 

-

Trixie was still fast asleep when Katya woke up. She opened one eye to double check, then the other before leaning over her to catch a glimpse of her round cheeks flushed from their shared proximity and the early afternoon incalescence. Katya extracted herself and tiptoed down the hallway to the bathroom, where she listened out for any signs of Trixie’s housemates in the kitchen. She had never been more grateful for it being vacant. 

She went to the fridge and perused what Trixie had on her shelf that Katya could use without causing too much culinary chaos. Grabbing a couple of avocados, a lemon and some pomegranate seeds, she went to the counter and started to put together some reliable avocado toast. She knew she wouldn’t mess it up or make a mess of the surfaces in the process. Trixie had some sourdough in her bread bin so Katya used the last of it to make four rounds between them, setting it out on two plates on a tray with a jug of iced water and two glasses. 

There was something missing, she thought when she nervously checked everything over, nudging the plates so they were accurately parallel to each other. She opened the front door and peered out to where Trixie’s neighbour’s cherry blossom tree hung over onto her lot. Katya reached up and plucked a few of the flowers. Hastily, she retreated back inside to decorate the tray and carry it through to Trixie’s bedroom. 

Trixie hadn’t shifted even an inch since Katya had left her and she would have felt guilty about waking her up if she weren’t already at her limit with everything else she had managed to fuck up with her. 

“Trix.” She called out from the doorway, shutting it behind her. “Wake up, honey, I’ll let you go back to sleep straight after but you’ve got to eat something.”

An agitated moan came out from where Trixie had snuggled up towards her pillow. 

“I know, baby, just have some lunch. I promise it’s good, even though _I’ve_ made it.” She came to sit beside Trixie, still holding the tray until Trixie sat up too, rubbing her eyes. She placed it in front of them and Trixie blinked.

“Oh god, if I knew it would take just a couple of days without me for you to voluntarily make food for us, I would have gone all Ross and Rachel ‘we were on a break’ with you ages ago.”

Katya was partly concerned that Trixie was implying they should spend some time apart, partly relieved to have her be all quick, snappy and sarcastic with her. She passed her some cutlery, made a show of rolling her eyes and tucked in, trying to divert her attention to what she was eating, not the sensation of having Trixie’s shoulders pressed up against hers. When she bit into a pomegranate seed and the juice burst out, she got an intense urge to kiss Trixie.

They were quiet - Trixie was still waking up and Katya was reflective, getting into her own head, not too far that she wouldn’t be able to pull herself out, but enough for her to miss Trixie thanking her for making her lunch and looking after her the first time around. 

Katya tidied their plates away, leaving the flowers with Trixie to do with as she pleased. Katya, a week or so ago, would have taken them and placed them in different sections of Trixie’s flowing hair. She mourned the loss of those privileges. They seemed so natural to her, that she had to keep reminding herself to reel her affection in, to keep sensible and restrained but affable nevertheless. 

When she came back to Trixie’s room, she had got back under her covers, lying on her side so she was facing Katya. Her eyes were droopy and Katya clenched her fists, hands aching to touch Trixie, to soothe her. Trixie had let her before but Katya couldn’t take advantage of Trixie’s geniality again. She had probably done that far too much already in their relationship. She hadn’t intended to, of course, but it had been one of the many side effects of having to keep so many secrets under tight lock and key whilst being with someone so patient and kind. 

She lingered, unsure of where to place herself or if there was anything else she could do to be useful, to help.

“Stop milling about, you’re being annoying like that.” Trixie grumbled.

“I should go.” She gestured lamely towards the door. 

Trixie stifled a yawn. “No. There are still things I need to know.” 

“But—”

“But nothing. Tell me what happened to all your art and your collection.”

Katya knew better than to argue. She stood with her back against Trixie’s mirrored wardrobe then slid down it to sit. “I got rid of what I owned of the Gucci stuff, took it to a Goodwill in Boston. Violet still has some of it and I think Fame has almost everything she was given, either in her apartment or in her storage unit, I can’t remember what she told me. There’ll still be items from it out there in the world somewhere, in random people’s closets but I thankfully never come across anyone online or on the street wearing anything. My collaboration was a success at the time but it wasn’t iconic and now the pieces are rare but not to the point of being collector’s items. And my art...Since Dan was dealing with all the copyright and legal shit, he had it all until everything was sorted. Then I asked him, as one last favour, to destroy it. He told me he took it to a warehouse and, like, incinerated it all but I’ve never quite believed him. I think he’s kept it somewhere. He’ll have his reasons, if he has, but so long as it doesn’t actually see the light of day, I’m not overly bothered.” 

Katya peered at Trixie who was humming to let her know she was still listening, stubbornly so, even when she was close to falling asleep once more. Katya kept talking, regardless, like the more she said, the more at ease Trixie would be. All Katya wanted was for things between them to go back to normal but she had to put the hard work in. 

“I know that if I called Fame up now and finally gave her permission, she would don something from my collection for the very next photo opportunity she got. She’s been jokingly threatening to do that for a while now, anyway. Fame’s always managed to see something greater in me than I ever thought I would see in myself, from our very first meeting. She’s offered to work with me on whatever I decide to do. I’m actually warming to the idea. Huh, that’s another thing I haven’t told you, I guess. I’ve been sketching again. Some of you, yeah, ‘cause you inspire me every day, but a lot of different stuff too. I’m actually kind of loving it.”

When she didn’t get a response this time, Katya huffed a laugh to herself and came to stand by Trixie’s bed, checking on her and arranging her sheets so she was optimally cosy. Katya made sure Trixie had some water on her bedside table, aligning the flowers she had picked next to the glass and tidying the rest of the room as much as she could with so much of her stuff taking up space in it. She decided to leave it all. Trixie likely needed it more than she did. 

Before she called for an Uber, she wrote a note out to leave on the pillow next to Trixie’s. It took her a while. She wanted to get her words right so Trixie wouldn’t be disappointed in her or annoyed at her for leaving. She signed it off with a few kisses and a silly little drawing to lighten the mood then creeped out, undetected.

-

“Oh _hello_. How are you? Violet’s been very suspicious these last few days when I’ve mentioned you. I hope everything’s alright?” Katya hadn’t been so relieved to hear Fame’s voice since that first phone call they shared post rehab. 

“I’m ok, I’m safe and steadier than I could have previously imagined myself being given the...weird situation.” She reassured, understanding how important it was to clarify such things first. “Listen, I’m going to send you a picture now and then we can talk it through once you’ve seen it, yeah? It sounds ominous but, well, I guess it kind of is. You’ve got some time, I’m not interrupting something?” Katya was lying upside down on her sofa in her studio, her legs resting on the back of her seat, bare feet grazing the walls (not resting against them for fear of mucking up the paintwork). 

Fame said she wasn’t busy and that she would look at whatever Katya had to share with her. It was a miracle she didn’t go off on a tangent about how sacred moments between two friends in two separate states can be over the wonder that is the internet. She must have been able to sense the magnitude of whatever it was Katya was about to disclose, Katya mused, pulling her phone away from her ear and sending a photo of Trixie to Fame via their WhatsApp thread.

Katya waited for Fame’s reaction, putting her on speaker phone so she could keep active as they spoke.

“Have you been hiding a muse all these years from me, Miss Zamolodchikova?”

Katya huffed a laugh. She wasn’t far off the mark. “That’s Trixie.”

“Oh, I…. _Oh_. Wait…?” Katya listened to Fame try and put together the pieces before she recounted everything herself. It was the third time now, so she had mastered exactly what to say, how to lay it all out as clearly as possible when it was indeed such a baffling story. Whilst she didn’t have to think about semantics much, it was nonetheless challenging to try and gage how someone else might respond. Fame had always been so fucking understanding of her but she couldn’t rely on past experiences too much - this was one on it’s own. 

“Katya, that’s…”

“I know.” She cut in, gravely. “Remember in Milan? That first time you really saw how bad I was? I was….I was talking to her then. She was beside me.”

“Wow, yeah, I mean, I just thought you were talking to yourself because I did that a lot when I was at my worst. No surprise there, is there? Impossible to shut me up even when there’s no one around! I never hallucinated or, well, I don’t know what you’d call what you went through? I don’t want to undermine it but I’ve only ever really heard people speak of their experiences as hallucinations or really bad trips. I haven’t personally known of anyone to have a recurring one to that extent, but I guess if you’ve an addictive personality, it makes sense for there to be one thing or being that you subconsciously fixate on for so long if you have the, hmm, capacity for it.”

Katya got up and made circles on her wooden floor, looking at her feet as they twisted to turn, how her pedicure was in need of re-doing. “Yeah, that part of it is easiest to reason. It’s just... _actual_ Trixie…?”

“Well, you know I’m a romantic at heart. Maybe it’s fate. A very unusual kind of fate but the rarity of it is what makes it so special. From what you’ve told me about her, it seems like a perfect match, and you’ve never gushed about a partner before. I know what you had with Violet worked out really well for the both of you and that the bond you share with her is precious but, I don’t know, I might be getting ahead of myself. To have practically manifested her into your actual life - that’s so powerful and I suppose it might be empowering to think of it like that. I can imagine you’ve felt so out of control and shaken by actually seeing her and having her with you. Maybe it’d help to think of all this as an example of what you’ve made happen for yourself now you’ve established a lasting recovery.” 

Katya grinned to herself in pure admiration of how Fame could turn even the most extreme of crazy situations into something inspirational. Her unparalleled decency knew no bounds. “Fucking hell, how has everyone just...accepted this? Violet said it was still sinking in but she’s texted me every day to check I’m ok and now you’ve just gone and floored me with your kindness and your way of thinking. Like, to have been burdened with this for decades and then to have the people that mean the most to me, for the most part, be so tolerant and compassionate is just...mind blowing, utterly mind blowing.” 

Katya could hear Fame smile over the phone. “I guess it’s ‘cause we know you. You’ve not a bad bone in your body, you’d never intentionally do something to hurt someone else, you’ve always done your best to ensure the people around you don’t worry about you. This is just...something that’s happened to you. You’re one in a million, Katya, so it’s no real surprise to me that something so strange has happened to you. I’m just upset that you never felt comfortable enough to talk about it before now, but I completely understand why. Now was the right time. So, see, it’s fate! Whether you believe in it or not, this has been determined for you. Now you just have to figure out how to steer yourself, and Trixie, in the right direction. You’ve got my help, and Violet’s. I have no doubt you’ll get through this like you have everything else.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, everyone :) I hope you're all safe and well. 
> 
> It feels so weird to have finished writing this story...It's been such a huge chunk of my life these past few months. At least I get to keep posting it! So my active connection with it isn't completely over just yet, thankfully. I have, of course, started writing something new, but I'm gonna keep quiet about that for now ;) 
> 
> I'm super chuffed with this chapter. Please let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading. I'm over on tumblr with the same username if you'd like to chat.

Katya filled her time with messaging her friends, asking about their lives and gossip so as not to get bogged down by her own. It would have been easy, then, to go around each person, one by one, and offload her secret. Easy in the sense that she was thinking so much about it that, really, it didn’t matter if she had an audience or not. That wasn’t wise, however, to fixate, to tunnel into depths that, ultimately, wouldn’t bring about the kind of enlightenment she was after. She had to be able to pinpoint when to stop as well as when to push herself and she had to remain how she was before, be consistent in her good qualities in order to prevent diminishing them. 

She listened to Amy as she detailed one of her cat’s eye infection treatments and how it had been so long since she had been on a date that she wondered if she would ever do so again. Katya joked she had the cats sorted so being a crazy cat lady was a viable option. It was nice to feel some sense of normality again after a few days of anything but. 

“Sorry again about missing your party.” Amy said. Katya had her phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear as she organised some of her loose sketches into neater piles on her desk.

“It’s ok. There’re plenty of others out there.” She didn’t want to elaborate on what she’d missed as that was a slippery slope.

“Maybe we could hang out, you, me and Trixie, tomorrow?” 

Katya froze. “Oh...uh, that would be great but...Trixie and I, we’re going through a bit of a rough patch, I think—”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I had no idea. What happened?”

Katya huffed a laugh at how she had managed to instantly find herself in the situation she had steadfastly wanted to prevent. “It’s fine, it’s a long story. Why don’t we meet up instead and I can fill you in. Come round to my place, yeah? It’ll be, uh, easier for me. You’ll see why.”

The next couple of days were taken up by reliving it all with Amy, which morphed into them both revisiting their paths to sobriety and consequently becoming exhausted to the point where Amy decided to stay over. They had a big pamper session and an early night. In the morning, Katya showed Amy her new designs and, together, they went through them to determine which they favoured more and which still needed work on. Amy enthused at each one, however, and Katya’s confidence grew with the knowledge that she still possessed some of the skills that had brought about her former success. 

She heard from Trixie only once. Trixie had messaged her to tell her she had seen her note and that she would also keep to herself for a while so she could properly formulate her thoughts, like Katya had suggested. Katya texted back just to let Trixie know she had seen it and they left the conversation there. As difficult as it was for Katya to enforce such strict boundaries, she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t give Trixie the proper space to analyse her thoughts and come to a sensible conclusion.

The more Katya thought about it during the time they spent apart, the more questions Katya had about Trixie too. Katya knew she was an expert liar, that even when her anxiety was skyrocketing, she could still mask most of what she was thinking and feeling. Trixie had told her that she had had problems with her which she shared with her friends, but how long had those worries played on her mind before she had said anything? Was there anything else that she had done out of skepticism or was Katya really still that effective in covering things up? Ultimately, Katya couldn’t quite comprehend why Trixie hadn’t gotten fed up with her sooner. Katya had professed how she felt about Trixie but Trixie hadn’t really done the same. 

Each time Katya recognised she was becoming too doubtful, she would ask someone else how they were. Perhaps the most valuable thing she had learned during rehab was that self esteem was only achieved through doing esteemable acts. If she wanted to feel better in herself, she needed to make herself as available as she could for other people and their problems. The world was wide and vast. Her view needed to reflect that.

A week after she had visited Trixie’s place, Katya got back into her regular routine. She saw Jason for her training session and made sure to get all the gorey details about him and Bobby (they were going on a couple of dates, Jason really liked him and Bobby approved of Jason’s home interiors so he was super pleased with himself, _and_ they were both vers so Katya joked that they should just get married now) and went to all her yoga classes. She got herself out of the house to see some exhibitions and to explore Barnsdall Art Park and the mini trails around Silver Lake Reservoir, and she went to the brunch spots she had wanted to try with Trixie.

She cried, and she let herself. She made sure she spent time with her artwork, bettering what she had shown Amy, but also drawing Trixie from her favourite memories of her. One especially difficult day, she brought out one of her larger blank canvases and filled it with Trixie’s staggering, arrestive form, the way she had looked when Katya had taken her photo, the one she showed her parents. It wasn’t often that Katya got the chance to practice depicting her without her makeup and it was enough of a challenge to adapt her techniques and keep her productive enough to feel better after finishing. She left it to dry, stepping back to view it from some emotional as well as physical distance and went to bed that night without reaching out beside her. 

It wasn’t fun. She liked her own company and was damn well used to it after such a long time, but being without Trixie and wondering how she was and what she was doing only emphasised to her just how ingrained Trixie had become in her life and how much they really could exist together so beautifully. The temptation to contact her was laying dormant but was always there nonetheless, no matter what activity she occupied herself with. 

Just as it was approaching the two week mark, Katya got a text. She had been at Sqirl, enjoying some pastrami spiced yuba and a honeycomb cocoa nib cookie, and had been reading Carmen Maria Machado’s latest online short story. She had put her phone on airplane mode, like she tended to if she was reading something a little more extensive, and had only turned it off once she had finished the piece, had paid and had left the cafe. She only actually looked at her home screen as she turned onto Marathon Street to embark upon the walk home and she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Trixie’s name there, in amongst Fame and Violet and Bobby. She had anticipated something from her every day but it was still unexpected to actually receive a message from her. 

It was simple. Three words. Not the ones Katya had said, but ones which meant as much to her in that moment. Trixie _missed_ her. Katya didn’t hesitate to type out the same sentiment. She forced herself to put her phone away for the time being, to keep walking and get home before she could properly evaluate. As soon as she was through her front door, she jogged down to her studio where the sun shone brightly through her giant windows, where she lay on the sofa with her face bathed in light, and read Trixie’s messages.

“You were right, I needed this time. It was horrible but it was the right thing for me and, hopefully, for the both of us.” She began. “I hope you’re alright. I don’t want to do all this over text, obviously, but I do want to kind of preempt what I’d like to talk through with you the next time I see you. That’s assuming you still want to see me…Idk, I guess you’ve done a lot of the explaining up until now. I want to tell you my perspective on everything and I think we need to make sure we’re absolutely on the same page. I’d like to come over tomorrow evening after work, if that suits you? I’ll bring all your stuff. Let me know.” 

Katya didn’t want to reveal too much too soon. She replied, saying how she was fine, would be waiting for her and that she was very glad to hear she still wanted to know her. She didn’t let herself assume the whole being ‘on the same page’ thing was any indication of their future together but her heart fluttered with hope regardless. 

Trixie texted her confirmation and wished her a good night. The two kisses at the end of her message were worth more to Katya than all the luxuries she had been afforded so far. She clutched her phone tight to her chest and imagined she was holding Trixie, forever her dream woman.

-

Trixie’s car pulled up around seven. 

Katya had been watching the clock since four thirty, when her yoga class finished and she was flung back into the noise and commotion of the outside, of her neighbourhood going about its daily business, people passing by unaware of the momentousness of her upcoming evening. She had showered when she got in and took her time to do her hair and makeup, to present Trixie with the ultimate version of herself, both inside and out. 

With that in mind, she had decided to wear her black Rick Owens cut out bra top (which showed off her abs and was just sculptured enough to push up what little tits she actually had), underneath a black and white diamond patterned dress. It’s long hemline featured two splits up each side so Katya’s legs were on show whether she walked or sat, and it’s extreme low cut neck met in a v shape above her navel. She had considered adding a belt but thought it better to choose comfort over aesthetics. Finally, she had put in her old, red glittery lobster earrings by Tatty Devine and had spent a further while spinning in front of the mirror before checking herself over. 

By the time Trixie was knocking on her front door, she had thoroughly exhausted her extensive list of calming techniques and had briefly considered changing into something without long sleeves to give herself some chance, at least, of not sweating profusely. 

Trixie looked stunning. She had been at work the whole day and yet Katya wouldn’t have been able to tell if she hadn’t known (if she hadn’t known Trixie’s mannerisms, hadn’t known Trixie full stop). Her makeup was impeccable - brows arched and carved out, eyeshadow dark and buffed towards her temples and lips luscious and pink and, fuck, Katya wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt. 

They got through a somewhat awkward greeting, Katya not quite sure if she should hug Trixie like she wanted to or if they were to keep separate for the time being, until their thereafter had been negotiated. 

Katya suggested they bring her things from the car first so they could carry it to her studio. “Then I can get you a drink and I can heat up some curry or order takeout or something ‘cause I suppose you’re hungry and we can talk, yeah, like you said and then maybe I can show you what I’ve been working on these past few weeks but no worries if you want to head off, I b—”

“Oh my god, breathe, _please_.” Trixie interrupted her stream of consciousness. “Don’t get all wound up, just take things one minute at a time, ok? Let’s go get your stuff.”

Trixie opened her trunk for Katya to get her box of diaries out of, then went around to open the back doors where the rest of Katya’s artwork lay. Katya kept glancing at Trixie as they walked together inside, then down to the studio. She wished she knew what Trixie was thinking, more than ever, as it felt like her life trajectory was in her hands. As she instructed Trixie where to put what she was carrying, she wondered whether what Fame had said about fate had any merit at all. She flipped from feeling steady enough to determine her own future, to fearing that Trixie would ultimately decide she didn’t want Katya in hers. 

“Sorry it’s a bit of a mess in here.” Katya said once they’d finished, arms open wide to gesture at her desk, cluttered with paints, pencils and the many different versions of one dress she just couldn’t seem to get right. 

“I like it.” Trixie smiled faintly. She didn’t wander around or look closely at what was strewn about but she did do a three sixty turn on the spot to scan the place. “It looks more lived in now, like there’s an actual person here.”

Katya nodded but didn’t know what to say to that when such a comment only reminded her of what Trixie ended up finding out because she saw and knew so little. Katya offered her something to drink (again) but Trixie said that she was fine for the moment. Katya couldn’t delay any longer. They sat at opposite ends of Katya’s sofa. Katya arranged her dress so she wasn’t flashing her underwear. She didn’t think too much of it when she caught Trixie staring at her chest, her thighs.

“How are you feeling?” Katya asked. “Have you managed to sleep better?”

Trixie played with a loose ringlet near her ear. “Yeah, for the most part, thank you. What about you?”

“Good days and bad days, y’know.” It was the honest truth and, as much as she wanted Trixie to know that the bad days were nothing like the bad days from years ago and that she had cried solely because she had missed her and was scared she would never see her again, she was ready to hear what Trixie had been thinking. 

“I know. God, this whole thing...That first time I saw you, I never imagined…”

“Yeah...” Katya folded her arms across her body. “Although, I was having the worst panic attack I’d had in years so maybe that should have given you some indication of what you were getting yourself into.” She tried to joke, to see whether Trixie was open to that yet.

Trixie huffed a laugh. “You’re so right. I just...It had been such a long and tiring day and I wasn’t really feeling being there. Naomi had managed to convince me but I spent a lot of that event either just drinking alone at one of the other bars because she had flounced off with Violet and whoever else to be gushed over. Which, fair, y’know, and so the rest of the time I wandered around the hotel. When I came out of the toilet and was faced by you, for sure the most striking woman I’d ever fucking seen in my life, I was like, oh, finally something _interesting_. When you practically fainted on me, I wanted to get you home and make sure you were alright. It might come across as incredibly selfish and weird of me but I’m sure you know I didn’t just leave you my number so you could tell me you were feeling better.”

“You’re an opportunist of the highest order, Trixie Mattel.” Katya smirked, the ease at which they could usually converse coming back in droves. “Then you had to go to deal with your mom so that put a spanner in the works.”

Trixie let out one loud guffaw. “I told you that bitch is difficult. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even when my mom was in the fucking hospital. Fucking diabetes. I would have felt bad but the amount of times I’ve been hurting and she didn’t give a fuck - I feel like I’m owed a pass.”

“Of course.” Katya reassured.

“I remember how fucking excited I was when you wanted to take me out. I was grinning to myself all day, the people I was working with were teasing me and, fuck, it just felt so refreshing to have someone who was, like, intriguing and mysterious have some interest in me. To come back from the stress and whatever of my mom’s situation and get to know you and laugh with you and have everyone look at us together was such a juxtaposition. I think it made me appreciate you even more...I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Katya watched Trixie intently. She always looked right at her, sincere and confident in her sentiments and Katya admired her even more for that, wanted to get out of her seat and come to her and hold her tight, the way she deserved. 

“Well, I’ve never met anyone like you either.” Katya quipped. Trixie laughed and Katya thought she would explode for how good it felt to hear her do so.

“Obviously. And, like, there were things about you that would have driven me absolutely insane in anyone else. Being born in the backwoods, dirt poor and isolated, it’s almost innate in me to resent anyone who came from money, who could afford not to work and have a wardrobe bursting with designer labels. It’s all part of who you are, though, and even though we had our disagreements about who paid for what, you never flaunted anything, you just wanted to treat me and make me feel good, and anyone who says they don’t enjoy a bit of spoiling now and again is a straight up lying cunt.”

“I just wanted you to have a good time with me. I still do…” 

“I know.” Trixie brought her feet up, turning to lean into the back of the sofa and resting her head there. The last of the daylight, orange and clement, shone into the room, tinging everything. Katya liked seeing Trixie in those tones. They suited her graciousness and accentuated her tenderness, the sort that could only be uncovered through intimacy. 

“Most of the time, I was, but then as the weeks passed, and then _months_ passed, and there were still such huge chunks of your life you wouldn’t talk about, I started to worry that what I was so enthralled by with you wasn’t the whole picture. So I talked it out, like I said, and of course my friends made jokes and tried to come up with more and more outlandish explanations as to why there was no trace of you anywhere. Huh, if only they knew now. They could never! Anyway, how you treated me never reflected the kind of suspicions I had. Kim pointed out to me, actually, that there might have been traumatic reasons behind your behaviour. She reminded me that I changed my name as soon as I could once I’d been emancipated, so I didn’t have my step dad’s surname. She said, y’know, some people don’t have an online presence and don’t disclose certain things for those reasons. So I kept going back and forth between all these thoughts about you, which held me back from fully letting myself enjoy how I was starting to feel about you.”

“Kim never held any judgements against me. I know the others didn’t mean harm by it. I would be concerned, actually, if your friends weren’t rallying around you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Trixie said. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Katya appreciated how she had come to have such an emotionally taxing conversation with her even after hours upon hours of being on her feet. 

“Why did you continue to do such nice things for me, like with the photos?” Katya needed to know, more than anything, the reasons behind Trixie’s continuous kindness and thoughtful means of showing her affection. Trixie looked at her as if she was stupid. Which, given her track record, wasn’t an unfair assessment.

“Well, first of all, if all this had been because of something traumatic or horrible happening to you as Kim suggested, then I would have been a complete dick not to keep doing nice things for you like you kept doing with me. There was an element of me thinking it really was a bit sad not to have some personal items and memories in your place, especially as you were so happy with it and clearly love living here. Then I wanted to find out if you did actually have photos with your family, to give me a bit of peace of mind that what you’d said about them, at least, had some truth to it, and it’s not like you were going to invite me to meet them any time soon. So a bit of it was out of spite, I guess, but also...Katya, you really don’t get it, do you?”

Katya frowned, not once breaking eye contact with her as if Trixie held all the answers to the universe’s big questions. “Get what?”

Trixie rolled her eyes and sighed, whispering “you dumb bitch” under her breath. Then, the corners of her mouth upturned ever so slightly, like she was in on a secret. “I care about you so fucking much. I thought it was obvious almost as soon as we started seeing each other, how hard and fast I’d fallen for you.”

It was comical, really, how Katya had managed to overlook such a notion. “Oh...I— even despite all the doubts you had and my weird— surely you noticed me acting weird?”

“You always act weird.” Trixie japed, sitting up again and leaning forward like she was willing Katya to believe her adamance. “Listen to me, Katya. I think you’ve spent so much of our relationship terrified of me finding out about your past and you’ve, understandably, been preoccupied in trying to figure out how the fuck something like this has happened. I’m still freaked out and I think I will be for a while but...maybe you’ve not actually been able to properly see me for me because of all that. I don’t mean, like, you still think of me as _Her_ in your diary, more like...there’s been so much to work through in your head and you’ve reflected so much on yourself that you’ve not had the ability to reflect on me in the present moment and pick up on just how fucking _infatuated_ with you I am.”

It was a revelation, what Trixie said. “That makes _so much sense_ , what the fuck?” Katya exclaimed in wonder at how Trixie managed to sum up all that she had been experiencing without complication, without rebuking her. 

Trixie let her sit with it for a while, going to get them both some water. Katya thought back over the many months of them being together, how there were probably countless signs that Trixie was head over heels for her but she hadn’t taken many of them in. She wished she could relive each date, each time she stayed over, so she could appreciate Trixie’s acts of endearment without them being clouded by her own turmoil. It was then that she could finally ease up. Whilst there was nevertheless a chance that Trixie wouldn’t want to pick up their relationship where they left it, it also was highly unlikely that she was planning to give up on them altogether. If she had made the effort to disclose all she had and was actively taking time out of her schedule to ensure there were no misconceptions between them, then surely that was a positive indication of things to come?

Katya blinked out of her reverie to see Trixie standing before her, offering her a glass, just like the night she first met her. She couldn’t help but beam at the synchronicity, the repetition. It felt like she had been given an opportunity to start afresh. “Thank you.”

Trixie came to sit back down, her own glass in hand, but closer so their bare shins brushed and nudged against each other as she got into a similar position to the one Katya had relaxed into, almost with her legs crossed. She played with the rim, dragging an errant water droplet from the side to the top and then around until her finger made a silly squeaking sound. She was nervous, Katya could tell. Katya took a risk and reached out, gently placing her hand on her calf and stroking her thumb up and down. Trixie kept her head ducked.

“I never knew my dad. I was a bit of a mistake, let’s say, so my mom was a young, single mother up until I started school. She didn’t like the restrictiveness of having to look after two kids all the time so she’d often dump my brother and me at our neighbour’s house or at my grandparents’ when she wanted to go out. She met my step dad when I was seven and he moved in with us a year later. Up until then, we had been _dirt_ poor. What money mom had was difficult to split between the essentials for us, food and then what she needed to stay somewhat sane, I guess. At first, I liked that he would pay for food and gas and stuff, so mom could buy me a new toy or something every now and then. I never really liked _him_ ‘cause, as much as I realised my mom wasn’t like a lot of other moms, I was happy it being just the three of us. I wasn’t enough for her, though.”

Katya pressed her thumb in with a bit more pressure. She didn’t ask the many questions that were constantly popping up in her head. Trixie just needed her to be there and to listen.

“He had a bit of a temper and it started out in a way that, as a kid, I just thought was normal. Like, he’d shout if I was in his way or he’d take away my toys if I was making too much noise, and if I cried he’d call me pathetic and useless. I started puberty quite young. I had proper boobs by age ten, which all my friends were jealous of, by the way. At home, though, that’s when everything started getting worse. He’d look at me for an uncomfortable amount of time and criticised my appearance, told me I needed to cover up and be ‘proper’. So I did at first because it was around that time I was starting to realise I didn’t like boys. All the other girls in my class were talking about their crushes and what they could do to get their attention and I could never contribute to those conversations. I just wanted to hide.”

“Oof, I relate to _that_.” Katya said to make Trixie smile again.

“I started dressing like a tomboy.” Katya made an over the top shocked expression. “I know, who’d have thought? But, yeah, this angered him even more. He started calling me a dyke, he tore down my Dolly Parton posters when he caught me staring at them one afternoon, he tried to control who I saw. If he thought I was talking about one of my friends too much, he’d slap me. By the time I was a teen, he was becoming more and more violent. It just coincided that I was becoming more and more gay and I had started dating a girl. We managed to keep it secret for just under two months and I think my mom knew but never said anything - she was fine with it, turns out. Then we got found out. My step dad flipped and came into my room, waving a gun around, pointing it at me and bellowing at the top of his voice that he was going to kill me. Luckily, he was loud enough that my neighbour heard and called the police and pretty much straight away I was taken to my grandparents’ and went through the process of emancipation.”

“Fucking hell, Trix.” Katya choked out. “I’m so sorry all that happened to you.”

“Thank you. It doesn’t seem like my life, sometimes. Like, I’ve done so much since and I’ve managed not to let it ruin anything, somehow, but...yeah, I can still have a tendency to be hypervigilant or sensitive or reluctant to trust because of all that.”

“It’s survival.” Katya added. She took a deep breath. “Can I hold you?” 

Trixie arranged them both so they were lying down on their sides, squeezed close together. Katya had her back to the back of the sofa and wrapped a strong, protective arm around Trixie, her hand spreading wide in between her shoulder blades as if to keep her exactly where she was, away from all harm. Their faces were a couple of inches apart at most. Katya could feel Trixie’s breath on her cheek, could feel the thud of her heartbeat where she had her hand on her.

“Thank you for trusting me with those stories, and with all that you’ve been struggling with these past months.” Katya said, beginning to stroke Trixie’s back. 

“I think we’ve both successfully purged all our demons with each other, right?”

Katya huffed a laugh. “I should hope so.” She brought her hand further up to Trixie’s nape, running her fingers through her hair and shifting it away from her face. She never wanted to move ever again, if she didn’t have Trixie by her side. Soothing her and taking care of her, in that moment and in all others, seemed like a predetermined arrangement for how natural and right it was. 

“Can we try again?” She pleaded. “I know I’ll never be able to figure out how on earth I saw you all those years ago and why that version of you kept coming back but I do know that the Trixie in front of me now is an incredible woman. You’re hilarious and patient and sarcastic and kind and you persevere through all kinds of adversities. You’re so fucking hot and such a good cook and your style is unique and in your face and you’ve got the best laugh I’ve ever heard. I want to do everything in my power to keep you laughing and feeling loved and safe. I can’t promise I won’t fuck up but I can promise that I will do my best by you. I’ve realised over these last couple of weeks that you’re not only my dream woman, you’re my _real_ woman. You’ve made my life a real one, full of friends and chores and compromises and honesty. You’re not a fantasy, you’re the real deal. You’re _it_ for me, y’know? I want to try my hardest to be it for you too.”

Trixie brought her hand up to cup Katya’s cheek, to smooth the creases on her forehead and the wrinkles by her eyes that appeared every time she strained or tensed up. Katya’s pulse ran ragged within her as she tried to prevent herself from equating Trixie’s hesitance to respond with absolute resistance to Katya’s proposition. 

“It’s been so confusing, trying to weigh up how I feel about you with the absurdity of the situation. For so long, I’ve had to do what’s sensible, like, have my head screwed on and find the middle ground between surviving and thriving. I guess...it’s time to take a few risks and go with what I _want_. And I want you, of course I want you.”

Katya couldn’t quite believe her ears. Trixie smiled and had to nod to reiterate, laughing at Katya’s evident amazement.

“I knew you couldn’t resist this bomb pussy.” Katya yelled, sending them both into fits of hysterics. It wasn’t the romantic declaration she had intended but it went along perfectly with what she had promised. They laughed and laughed and clung onto each other until they were breathless and dangerously close to rolling off the sofa.

Once they’d calmed, Katya nudged her nose against Trixie’s, a silent request. Trixie tilted her face up towards Katya’s. Katya flicked her gaze from Trixie’s mouth back to her eyes to double check and, when she saw her pupils blown and the glint that had returned tenfold, she dipped her head and pressed her lips against Trixie’s. 

She was soft and careful, at first. Not because she was worried she would go too far or put Trixie off - she had her irrefutable validation now - but because she wanted to relearn Trixie’s features, the ones she couldn’t ever have imagined, the ones that all made up exactly who Trixie was right there and then. She angled her head just so, grazing her lips against Trixie’s, open and willing. Trixie chased her, capturing her mouth again, this time more insistent and spirited. Katya ran her hand from the crown of Trixie’s head, down so her fingers tangled in her curls, and held on, tugging when she slid her tongue against Trixie’s, shivers crawling up her spine to caress at her own nape. 

They kissed for what could have been hours or minutes, Katya had no other perception but of how Trixie felt against her, how her touch lit a fire inside her and made her zone in on only her, as if the universe paused for them while they reconvened. Katya ran her hand down Trixie’s chest, over her breasts, to hold onto her waist and squeeze the fat on her hips. She sucked on Trixie’s bottom lip, pulling away only to watch how a string of spit connected them before doing it all over again, never tiring of Trixie’s panting, of how she moaned when Katya did something she hadn’t foreseen.

“I can’t believe you chose to wear that.” Trixie murmured against Katya’s neck, where she had buried her face to lick at her goosebumped skin. “You knew what you were doing, didn’t you? Flashing your legs and showing me what I’d been missing.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Katya gasped, eyes closed as she threw her head back to give Trixie more access. Trixie got on top of her, knees splayed apart each side of Katya’s hips so her ass stuck up in the air. Katya grabbed what she could, squeezed hard and possessively. 

“You fucking know I would tear any fucking outfit off of you in an instant. I’m always so desperate for you. I missed you and being an idiot with you and talking with you and all of that but, _god_ , I’ve missed having sex with you. Can we? I’m so wet, I feel like you’ve ravished me already.”

Katya jerked upwards, crashing her mouth against Trixie’s with no restraint, as if that would give Trixie her answer. She deftly flipped them despite their cramped space but when Trixie complained of being uncomfortable, Katya stood up and led her to the rug, the one Trixie had been hoping Bobby would choose. She lay her down, her hair fanning like a halo around her. Trixie was in her element, one leg bent so Katya could see the pink lace of her underwear beneath her dress, her arms positioned just so above her head, like she was showing Katya she was for the taking. 

Katya stood so Trixie had to rest on her elbows and prop herself up to see her. Katya’s dress fastened down the back. She reached behind herself and slowly dragged the zipper down, distractedly licking her lips as she saw what effect her teasing had on Trixie. She took her arms out of her sleeves and let the rest of the material pool at her feet. She gave Trixie enough time to study her from head to toe before she bent to pick up her dress, giving Trixie another glimpse of her cleavage (a rarity as she usually didn’t have one). 

“Fuck, how do you get hotter and hotter? Your tits…”

Katya went to fold her dress over one of the chairs at her desk, circling around Trixie before she finally relented and eased her body down on top of hers. She slotted herself seamlessly between Trixie’s legs so when she thrust her hips forward, her thigh rubbed up against her, eliciting another of Trixie’s filthy moans. She kissed her, her tongue licking over her lips like she was tasting every part of her, and rested her weight on one of her forearms as she glided her other hand up Trixie’s thigh. 

“So gorgeous.” Katya said as she kissed down her neck, holding onto her hip and sighing in frustration at where Trixie’s clothes prevented her from any further action. 

Katya instructed Trixie to sit up and take her dress and bra off. Trixie didn’t balk at all, freeing herself from her clothes. Once she lay back down, Katya pulled off her delicate French knickers. Katya smirked. “Those are new.” She flung them aside, and kissed where she knew Trixie would be blushing, high on the apples of her cheeks, underneath her foundation.

“I treated myself.” Trixie tried to convince her, to no avail.

“Well, you’re treating me right now.” Katya responded rapidly, flashing Trixie a wide, hungry grin. 

Trixie raised her arms above her head again, coming into a similar position as before, driving Katya wild. Katya leaned over Trixie’s face so she could kiss from her fingertips, down her arms to the crook of her elbows, then down her biceps to her shoulders. She stopped dead in her path when Trixie kissed over her heart, pushed aside the cup of her bra and took her nipple into her mouth, lapping her tongue over it and sucking. 

Trixie kept her mouth on Katya as she attempted to take off her bra, the thick clasp tricky to undo. Katya helped her out, straddling her as she revealed herself, rubbing where the material had been tight. She tossed her hair back out of the way so Trixie had an unobstructed view and smirked unabashedly as Trixie ogled her. “Hello, _hi_.” She chirped, making Trixie cackle at her stupidity.

They kissed, long kisses which secured the frantic energy between them, only heightened their need to connect further, deeper. Katya parted Trixie’s labia and slid her fingers down to her entrance. She gasped from her heat, her wetness, and slid two inside her, scissoring them to relish in the stretch she created, the way Trixie keened. Trixie clung onto her when Katya pushed in further, crooking her fingers to rub over the spots she had come to learn were especially sensitive. 

“So good.” Trixie breathed. “What do— _oh_! What do you…?”

Katya increased her pace, bringing her fingers almost all the way out before ramming them back in again. “Rub my clit. I’m so close already without…” She trailed off, knowing Trixie understood.

They took a while to figure out their best positioning but as soon as they did, the both of them eased into their limitless pleasure, their movements in sync with each other. Katya’s orgasm built and built until she couldn’t look at Trixie any more, had to close her eyes to try and stave it off a little longer. She wanted to luxuriate.

“Keep looking at me.” Trixie said. “This is the real thing, don’t miss it.” 

Katya would have huffed a laugh if she wasn’t sweating all over, glutes tensing at every stroke, every kiss, every one of Trixie’s shouts. Her stomach tightened, the tops of her thighs thrumming as Trixie added more pressure against her, changing her direction from up and down to side to side at unexpected intervals. Trixie’s breasts bounced from Katya’s force, hand scrabbling for purchase on the rug. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” Trixie called out, curling in on herself. Her hand shot to her own clit, rubbing as fast as she was trying to keep up on Katya’s.

They came within seconds of each other, crying out into the room they had curated, in their own way, together. 

Trixie didn’t stay over. They cuddled, sprawled out on the floor, and talked some more and, when Trixie stated they should take things slow afterwards, Katya didn’t worry, instead felt excited by the prospect of dating Trixie again, free from all the juggling she had had to do. Katya offered to take her out for dinner and dancing the following Saturday night and they could pretend it was their first time. Trixie laughed and humoured her by agreeing and Katya promised to sweep her off her feet.

Katya didn’t get round to showing her what she had been drawing and painting but she didn’t care, she had the future for all that, uncurtailed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The look I describe on Katya is the black and white dress she wore during part of T&K's High School Reunion. I think about that damn production at least once a day wqihduohdef UGH.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gays, we're getting to the end here! Next time I post, I'm going to post both chapters at the same time as 20 is kind of an epilogue. Thank you so much to everyone who reads this. I hope you're all safe and well and enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Let me know your thoughts! I'm over on tumblr with the same username, too.

Autumn didn’t really exist in LA, Katya mused, walking hand in hand with Trixie along Venice Beach Boardwalk. By the end of September, Boston cooled down, felt fresher and less compact. Katya liked the difference. She liked Trixie’s short, strappy dresses even more, the way the backs of her thighs jiggled under her hemline as she moved, how her breasts bounced when she did a little skip as she saw that the ice cream place had her favourite flavour in stock. She liked how they had found their feet during the changing of the seasons, discovering what stability meant for them, what pure joy it was to continue getting to know each other without fear. 

Katya hadn’t said it again but she felt it exponentially - _love_. 

They walked up to Santa Monica beach, passing the infamous workout area and watching muscly men show off their pull ups and buff women hold positions on the still rings. Katya joked that if she hadn’t been wearing a completely inappropriate outfit, she would have got up there and shown everyone how it was really done. 

They wandered as far as the volleyball nets before settling on the sands, having managed to find a space removed enough from everyone else. Trixie put down her blanket as Katya toed off her Vivienne Westwood flip flops (which Trixie had dutifully mocked her for) and held onto their cooler. Trixie had filled it with dips and chopped up vegetables, fruit and juices. Katya thought she would probably want another ice cream once they’d finished and could picture Trixie’s false admonishment. 

They lay, soaking up the sun as if they weren’t blessed with it for most of the year round. Katya linked her fingers with Trixie’s and made up a silly song about a girl named Cindy who was disabled and had nice hair just so she could hear Trixie’s demonic bird noises. Trixie made her own up straight after, which basically consisted of, “My daughter died in a rowboat and I never told anyone.” 

Once they’d mellowed out again, Trixie turned to her so she rested on her side. Katya watched her out of the corner of her eye, slowly dipping her head so she could press a barely-there kiss to Katya’s forehead before retreating again. 

“What are you after?” Katya pinched her stomach and Trixie screeched.

“Nothing, you cunt! I just wanted to kiss you.”

Katya pretended to mull it over. “Ok, I’ll let you off for now.” 

Katya listened to the distant crash of waves against the shoreline, the cheers of the volleyball players and the chatter of the people around them. She relaxed furthermore when Trixie began to stroke up and down her arm, the silence between them so comfortable she felt like she was melting into it.

“Sorry if this ruins the mood but...I was just thinking about what you wrote about Michele.” 

Katya turned to face Trixie. “It’s ok. What’s on your mind?”

Trixie brought them together so their stomachs touched and rested against each other. “I don’t think I properly took it in when I first read your diaries how, even though it was a small age gap, you were still young and it was really shitty of her to pursue you and shame you into keeping quiet. It wasn’t at all fair that the both of us couldn’t have an untainted first love. And, like, thinking over it a few days ago, it made me realise that my second girlfriend— that whole thing wasn’t quite right either.”

Katya frowned. “In what way?”

“She was ten years older than me, which is no problem once you’re fully an adult and have developed mentally and emotionally, y’know? But I was fresh in college and still not properly over what happened with my first girlfriend and my stepdad and, I dunno, I don’t think I had processed it before now.” 

Katya cupped Trixie’s cheek, placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It’s difficult to reflect on stuff like that when life never seems to fuckin’ stop and you move away from it. Then, if ever you do think about it, that distance from the situation only really makes you wonder if it was as bad as it might have seemed closer to the time.” 

Trixie hummed. “Exactly, you have to wade through so much shit and it’s exhausting.”

“If only everything was sunshine and rainbows, hey, Barbie?” She pecked her cheek a few times, rubbing up and down her side to jostle her playfully. “The whole thing with Michele messed me up way more than I was conscious of until I started therapy in rehab. It goes to show how badly I used to profess I was fine when I was quite literally dying.” 

“Yeah. I think I’ve always thrown myself into staying afloat and getting jobs and making something of myself. That’s worked for a lot of things. I think being with you is, I dunno, encouraging me to sit with stuff sometimes, that it’s not always bad to analyse and pull something apart.”

Katya nodded then bit her lip provocatively. “Well, I’m glad there’s one reason you’re with me.”

Trixie cackled and shoved at Katya’s shoulder. “Shut up! There’s a million reasons.”

“Ok, Lady Gaga.” Katya gibed. She kissed all over Trixie’s face until there wasn’t a spot left she hadn’t adoringly claimed and then, after an hour or so more of lounging, she bugged Trixie for more ice cream.

-

“Sorry I didn’t give you much notice but with all the fashion weeks done, I thought it would be nice to come and see you.” Fame said into their hug. She had secured a booth at SUGARFISH, a sushi restaurant near Rodeo Drive, and hopped up as soon as she had caught sight of Katya, smiling as bright as a star (and looking as sensational as a starlet). Katya held her extra tightly, appreciating her presence more than ever.

“Don’t be silly, I’m so glad you’re here.” Katya sat across from her, ignoring the menu in favour of giving Fame a good once over and complimenting her outfit. 

“Thank you, you look fabulous too of course. Being loved up clearly does wonders for the skin.” Fame wafted her hand around Katya’s face. Katya rolled her eyes good naturedly and listened to Fame detail her outfit, who it was sent to her by and what alterations she’d had made on each part so it all fit the precise way she wanted. “It’s hard to find someone last minute but a friend of a friend made an excellent recommendation, you know how it goes.”

They quickly decided to order and share the Nozawa set menu along with some iced green tea. 

“I know you’ve filled me in over the phone but I want to check anyway. How is everything with Trixie now? Do you still feel good in yourself, too?” Fame leaned forward as she asked her questions. Her posture was impeccable and her white with black polka dot detail scarf only elongated her neck more. Her Erdem dress (black lace with long sleeves and a waved hemline that matched with her scarf) was cinched at her waist by a leather Maison Boinet belt and her now white blonde hair curled and sat perfectly at her shoulders. 

“It’s a miracle but things have never been better. I think, in some fucked up way, that her finding out, uh, uh, _released_ us. We had so much fun before all that shit went down but now...it’s as close to perfect as any realistic relationship can be. And I’m really great. It still freaks me the fuck out and if I think for too long about it, I can drive myself up the wall trying to search for an answer about why and how this happened, but I’m making my peace with never finding out.”

“It must make you want to tear your hair out, I’m sure, but mysteries are what make the world interesting and, as far as stories go, this one is utterly remarkable. I think, going forward, it’s more about what this _enigma_ has granted you and about accepting what you cannot change, just like with addiction.”

Katya placed her hand on top of Fame’s and squeezed. “God, between you and Violet, I’ll never need therapy ever again. Geniuses! The both of you. Thank you, I think you’re right.”

The food was brought out in successive courses with just enough time in between each to digest. Katya asked Fame about fashion week, especially about New York, and Fame spent most of their meal gushing about what she had seen, which designers had disappointed and which floored her, were the most inspiring. 

Once Katya had paid (her treat to Fame for “being a fuckin’ babe”), they sauntered around the shops, passing comment on the current season’s offerings as if they hadn’t already when Katya had caught up with photos on vogue.com months previously. Katya didn’t see anything that took her fancy but Fame picked up a vintage Alaïa dress from a second hand boutique on Brighton Place. 

Later that afternoon, Katya invited Fame to see her studio. She’d purposefully not said anything about what she’d been working on for a while, wanting to be able to show her instead, see her reactions up close and have the conversations that she, frankly, couldn’t mentally facilitate through long distance FaceTime sessions. 

Fame predictably raved about her set up and clapped with delight upon spotting the photo of the three of them on Katya’s wall. 

Katya had properly organised her designs in the build up to Fame’s arrival. She and Amy had whittled them down to definites and then created another compilation of maybes. Only one of the entire collection featured Trixie. Katya had got her permission and, whilst she couldn’t yet decide if it was her absolute favourite design overall, it was her best t-shirt concept to date. It featured the painting Katya had done of Trixie by her window on the front in warm tones, which was distinct enough as it was, considering the rest of her designs were much more monochromatic with a few primary colours here and there. Where Trixie had her hand on the curtain in the painting was a slash up the front of the t-shirt so it would look like Trixie’s hand was reaching for that instead. She had no idea how well such a design would work in reality and how she could get it manufactured well enough for the effect to pay off, but she was chuffed with it nonetheless. 

As Fame studied her work, Katya folded her arms, rocking from her heels to her toes. Fame was silent, concentrating, and Katya didn’t think she’d been around her when she was as quiet before. It was unnerving but necessary. When Fame was ready, she went through each piece and asked questions such as what material would be used for certain parts or how Katya envisioned the piece to fit in accordance with staples in people’s wardrobes, not just alongside the rest of the collection itself. Where Katya wasn’t one hundred percent certain, Fame would offer suggestions or would tell her of a similar piece she had seen at a show or fitting to help. 

“So, what’s the verdict overall?” Katya inquired, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress. 

Fame instantly pulled her into a hug. “I think it’s _wonderful_.” She held her in a long, meaningful embrace and only elaborated when they were face to face again. “The t-shirt will no doubt go viral if you get it just right. The dresses are so you and just on the edge of too much without actually crossing the line. It’s like a capsule wardrobe for the arty woman about town. I think you’ve got a fantastic range of staples and stand out pieces and I can’t wait to see where you take them. You’ve struck gold here, I truly believe it.”

They spent the rest of the day going over ideas for production and promotion. Katya declared unequivocally that, if she did successfully manage to launch her own line, the faces of it would be Violet and Fame. Fame warbled on about how much that meant to her and how much she cherished their friendship. Katya told Fame about how Amy had been helping her and how she wanted her to be involved in the collection too, as she had known her during her time with Gucci and had always been impressed by her personal style as well as her professional abilities. 

Everything was coming together and, though her plans were merely at their foundational stages, Katya was certain of their substance. 

She got Violet’s opinion soon after and appreciated her perspective as someone who saw herself ahead of trends and influential both online and within the general fashion scene. Violet also agreed that the t-shirt had the potential to be a hit with influencers and across instagram but was just artistic enough not to be pigeonholed into that market alone. Katya wanted Violet to also be her model for fittings and quality checks and made it clear that she would be paid for all of her time and advice. “It’s fine, I’m involved in this because you’re my friend, I don’t expect a fee for something I’d be doing anyway.” She protested, but Katya would have none of it. 

By November, Amy spent all her spare time scouting for someone who could manage manufacturing. She had called almost all her former contacts at Gucci and was put through to a Spanish man who supplied a lot of the goods for other luxury brands, too, from his quaint home town, which was remarkable to Katya. She smiled at the image of traditional Catholic abuelas gossiping about what he was making before anyone in the industry even had an inkling. He mainly supplied accessories but he gave her the details of his former assistant who had set himself up in LA to work alongside Reformation, Rezek Studio and a couple of other California based boutiques. He gave her his word that this man was formidable. 

As Katya was useless with that side of things, she made sure to plentifully reimburse Amy for any expenses on top of a monthly salary they had both agreed on. Amy still had her day job as a fashion consultant but, as it was freelance, she could pick and choose what suited her. Katya had worried that she had just barged into Amy’s professional life and effectively taken over. Amy reassured her that she had been getting bored and had been looking to get back into producing clothing, having started to miss her stint with creating her own indie label when she had got sober. It was brief and very homemade and alternative, Amy explained, but with more maturity and stability now she was older, she was yearning for such an endeavour again. 

Trixie was nothing but supportive. Throughout their time together, Katya had always been available, always the one to be a bit ignorant to other people’s schedules because she determined hers outside the constraints of a job. As her responsibilities and demands with creating her own collection grew beyond her comprehension, there was often less time for her and Trixie to spend together. Trixie’s work wasn’t as hectic as the spring and summer months and the only instance where she tended to complain was when she resented how the Holiday season was fast approaching and how that meant unrelenting jobs right up until Christmas. 

A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, Katya invited Trixie over for the whole weekend and promised she would completely dedicate it to being together and doing whatever Trixie wanted - within reason. She would not stand for playing video games again. Trixie had taken up the questionable new hobby whilst Katya had been up to her neck in figuring out how to sufficiently finance the production of her collection. When she had pestered her to play with her one night, Katya had quickly lost interest and eaten Trixie out until she could no longer hold her controller. 

Katya had prepared the one dish she could - her reliable chickpea curry - ready to serve up once Trixie arrived, and she had set out the dinner table with a bunch of pink roses, a fancy face mask, a bottle of Trixie’s favourite whisky (“Why are you a sixty year old man?”) and a surprise wrapped gift.

Every time Katya met Trixie at her door, the excitement only ever heightened. Katya watched Trixie prance towards her before she swept her off her feet and pushed her up against the wall to kiss her senseless. She wrapped a strong arm underneath one of Trixie’s thighs, her other holding on to her body tightly. She ran her tongue along the seam of Trixie’s lips until they parted and she licked into her, her taste so familiar yet no less intoxicating. Trixie moaned and pressed herself even closer into Katya, her hands running over wherever she could possibly get them.

“Hello to you too.” Trixie yelped when Katya pinched her ass, slapping it lightly as she kissed her again.

“Just giving you a hint of what’s to come.” Katya reluctantly let go of her and led her to the table to present her with her gifts. “Just a few things to say thank you for being so patient with me as I try and figure out what the fuck I’m doing. I know I’ve not been able to focus on us as much as before but I want you to know that you’re always on my mind. And when you’re not actually all up in my pussy, you’re in my disgusting, vivid, _obscene_ sex dreams.” 

Trixie scream laughed, grasping Katya’s forearm and shaking it about. “I better be!” Trixie’s attention was drawn back to the pile of presents. “You didn’t need to do all this, you should know I support you because I want to, because I care...The flowers are beautiful, though, and, oh my god, that’s the face mask I was talking to you about weeks ago. I can’t believe you remembered!”

“I’ve not got dementia just yet.”

“Only a matter of time at your age.” Trixie turned back to Katya briefly to quip and she flashed her a cheeky grin. “Can I open this now?” She gestured to the pink, glossy wrapping paper Katya had bought specifically for all the gifts she had got her for the holidays. 

“Of course.” Katya came to drape herself over Trixie’s back to prevent herself from fidgeting. Trixie peeled back the paper to reveal a pink ten by twelve frame.

“Oh my god, you got this printed for me?” Trixie exclaimed, running her finger over the glass encasing the portrait of her at her window. 

Katya kissed behind her ear, planting an extra one at a random spot on her neck. “It’s going to be on some sexy t-shirts one day, it’s only fair you get the original. Well, the first copy of the original. I don’t think it makes sense for you to have that massive canvas take up half your room.”

“No, I think having an almost life sized version of myself looking at me all the time would be a bit much, even for me. This is perfect. It all is. Thank you.” Trixie turned in her arms. Katya rested her hands on each side of Trixie’s face and kissed each of her ridiculously contoured cheeks, her highlighted nose, her irresistible lips. 

Trixie poured herself a drink as Katya plated their food. “If I poison you, I’d like to think you know me well enough to be sure it wasn’t intentional.” 

They ate companionably, Katya asking Trixie about her day and decidedly not thinking about her lengthy to do list. It had been hard to acclimatise to having lots of important tasks. She recognised she still wasn’t as busy as service workers, for example, as she could sit down most of the day, she had the choice and autonomy of deciding what to accept and what she could determine wasn’t good enough, and she had the privilege of delegating to those with more suited skill sets than herself. Besides, it was always a pleasure to divert all her attention towards Trixie. 

“How’s the curry?”

Trixie, still with her mouth full, hummed. “Edible. You’ve come on leaps and bounds.”

Katya washed up as Trixie took her makeup off, another two drinks down her. Katya joined her in the bathroom and sat on the toilet as she watched Trixie apply her mask. “I’m really grateful you agreed to the t-shirt.”

“It’s such a cool idea, of course I said yes. I want to be associated with it.” Trixie brought her face closer to the mirror, carefully scooping out a good amount of product and covering her skin generously with it. “I’m at that point now where, like, even though I’m still not totally comfortable with the Gucci stuff, because I wasn’t aware of it at the time and it’s just weird to think that random people across the world have paintings of me on their clothes, I’m more than happy to be involved in something you’ve created now. It’s flattering but also a mark of where we’ve come to in our relationship.” 

Katya played with the eyeball bracelet on her wrist. “I’m so happy.”

Trixie finished her mask and re-tied her hair in a poofy bun so none of her flyaways got caught in it. She came to stand in between Katya’s legs so they were bracketed by her knees. Katya looked up at her, at her soft smile and the sparkle in her eyes that she had vowed to herself to bring out in different ways every day, and she held onto Trixie’s hips, confident in herself enough to believe Trixie when she told her she was happy too.

Later that night, Trixie, suitably tipsy and bolstered by the fact, asked Katya to bend over the kitchen counter for her. “You’ve been a proper little housewife for me today. I want to do it right here, treat you _so good_.”

Katya instantly stirred, an uncharted thrill running through her as she got into position, sticking her ass out by dipping her lower back. The stretch in her hamstrings was pleasing, as was the feel of the cool granite against her chest. She heard Trixie come behind her and felt her push her t-shirt out of where she’d tucked it into her waistband and up. Katya was wearing a comfy pair of plisse culottes. Trixie tugged them down and away in an instant, revealing Katya’s simple black thong. She was exposed and, whilst she usually liked showing herself off for Trixie’s viewing pleasure, she wasn’t used to not being able to see her. She stared at the flecks on her countertop instead and became even more aroused from having to imagine what Trixie’s reactions were.

“God, you’ve got the tightest, bony ass. I want to put my face all over it. Is that what you want too?” 

“ _Yes_ , put your tongue in me, as deep as you can.” Katya instructed, the heat of her hands already making imprints on the surface of the counter. How her t-shirt was positioned was a bit awkward so she told Trixie to wait until she’d stripped off completely. Her nipples got hard as she moved back and goosebumps rose on her arms. 

Trixie trailed her hands down between Katya’s shoulder blades to linger a while at her waist before she took a firm hold of each of her ass cheeks. Katya felt Trixie’s seering kisses along the curve of her spine until she hovered over her coccyx, blowing so she shivered. 

“I’ll do anything you want. Tell me if I’m not doing enough.” Trixie said, her lips grazing the very top of her crack. 

“Oh my—” She stifled a gasp, clutching at nothing. She balled her fists as Trixie’s tongue dipped, only teasingly so at first. Then, Trixie pulled her cheeks apart so Katya could feel her nose press against her, and licked up from her entrance, catching her wetness and spreading it around her hole. “ _Fuck_.” She cursed, rubbing her cheek against the warming granite. She strained to press herself harder against Trixie’s tongue as she licked up and down, making sure Katya was drenching wet. 

When Trixie deemed her ready and after Katya had begun panting, moaning every time Trixie went a little further down to lap near her clit, she pointed her tongue and pushed it inside her. At first, she thrusted slowly and shallowly, keeping her grip on Katya’s cheeks tight and squeezing every so often. Then, as Katya got louder and began to move backwards to meet her, she went at it, completely unrestrained. Katya propped herself up on her left forearm, her right hand coming to grab and massage her own breast. “Your mouth...so fucking good...more.”

Trixie obeyed, getting as deep as Katya thought she could. Trixie smoothed her hand over and around Katya’s hip, stroking down her thigh once, twice, before laying it over Katya’s cunt. Katya snapped her hips back and forth to get the stimulation she was desperate for in each place. Trixie fondled her clit, uncoordinatedly. Katya sensed Trixie’s own arousal becoming impossible for her to neglect much longer.

“I’m close.” Katya encouraged her. Trixie’s jaw must have started to ache because she pulled out. Katya clenched around her absence but wasn’t given the chance to recuperate, Trixie coming to replace her fingers on her clit with her mouth, sucking hard and using her entire face for Katya to get off on.

Katya came with a piercing shriek, back arching until the very last of her orgasm left her, causing her to collapse and rest her forehead down on the countertop.

“Fuck.” She gulped. When she finally regained enough energy to stand and check on Trixie, she found her sitting on the floor with her back to the cabinet, her head flung back, looking positively wrecked, face glistening from sweat and Katya’s wetness. “You really _did that_.” Katya said with wonderment. 

“And I loved every fucking second.” She grinned up at her. “I am _so_ wet. It’s taking all my self control not to touch myself right now.”

Katya told her not to and proceeded to pull her up, ridding her of all her clothes, hoisting her on to the same countertop Katya had been pressed against and spreading her legs as wide as they would go. Trixie shifted her pelvis forwards so she was even more open to her. Katya bent down as if she was inspecting her. “You _are_ wet. Did you like eating my ass?”

“You know I did. Please, Katya…” Trixie begged, baring her weight on her hands and pushing her chest out as if she was accentuating herself to Katya to make herself evidently available. 

Katya smirked and brought her lips to Trixie’s, tasting herself on her tongue. She kissed down her neck and gently grazed Trixie’s nipples with her teeth. She didn’t spend long there, continuing her path down her stomach to her dripping cunt and swiftly zig zagged her tongue from the top of Trixie’s clit down in between her labia. She licked upwards a few times until Trixie’s whines got too insistent. She flattened her tongue and bobbed her head and tweaked Trixie’s nipples and grabbed onto whatever she could of her until she jerked too much to contain. Only focussing on Trixie’s clit, Katya went to town until everything started to ache and the frenzied noises Trixie was making indicated the onset of her climax. 

It was short but intense, going by how Trixie’s whole body shook. Katya gathered her up in her arms and kissed her cheek as she came down, nosing into her hair to breathe her in. Trixie clung to her, burying her face in Katya’s sweaty neck. Katya almost didn’t catch Trixie whispering to her. 

“I love you. I love you too. So fucking much.”

-

They spent thanksgiving at Katya’s. She had offered to host a big gathering for all their friends again, wanting to make amends for the previous one, but Trixie had kissed her shoulder and promised her that Bob, Shea and Naomi were suitably placated and that all was well. “Still, it’d be nice to have them. And Kim, now I barely get chance to fit her sessions in along with everything else.” Trixie agreed but Katya was more than relieved to know she wanted to spend their first holiday together, alone.

As neither of them were traditional, Katya ordered in and they binged on whatever food they fancied. Trixie got pizza and Chinese food _and_ Chipotle, and Katya cheered her on as she struggled to finish her first “course” (half of each dish). Katya kept to her chicken salad for lunch and ended up just eating a whole bag of skittles for dinner, pinching a few bits from Trixie’s plate too. 

“To think, I first thought of you as this health freak. Little did I know…”

“Huh, that’s an understatement!” Katya joked. Trixie scream laughed and Katya couldn’t have been more ecstatic about it. 

They lazed on the sofa all day, only moving to eat and have sex. Katya was pretty damn pleased with herself to have made Trixie come six separate times by nightfall. To say she was in heaven was an understatement. 

Earlier that week, she had finalised more plans for the collection and had signed the contract - along with Amy - with the manufacturer. The three of them had figured out how to produce the prototype of the t-shirt and were all pretty confident it would turn out well. The first batch of each item was to be done by mid December and Katya had the rest of the month to give hers and Amy’s feedback. The improved pieces would then be finished in the new year and ready for fittings with Violet as soon as Katya and Amy were one hundred percent satisfied with the final products. 

In bed, after their seventh and last orgasm of the day, Katya turned to Trixie with a mischievous grin. “Violet and I have been talking about the creative direction of our shoots for the ‘first glimpse’ photos that we’ll be using for press releases and the website. Do you happen to know of a really good makeup artist to help us, a fledgling, upcoming brand? I just can’t think of anyone…” 

Trixie rolled her eyes. “You fuckin’ bitch. Cut the crap, are you asking me to work with you?”

“Obviously.”

Trixie squealed and hugged her close, rolling them around and tangling them up in Katya’s sheets. “Of course I will, oh my god!”

That Friday, during her family phone calls, Katya’s mom invited her and Trixie to visit them in Boston for Christmas. She checked with Trixie (who emphatically accepted, on the condition that she pay for her own flight) and Amy, in case there was any reason for her to be around for the business. There wasn’t. So, that weekend, she rang her dad. It was a miracle he picked up his mobile that day, only confirming to her that everything really was slotting into place, everything was as it should be.

“We’ll be there, dad!” She proclaimed with childish excitement. 

“That’s brilliant. We can’t wait to meet Trixie, and to see you again of course. Will she really not let me pay for her flight?”

Katya was coming back from her yoga class, tired but simultaneously re-energised. Her hoodie was tied around her waist as the sweat on her chest and back dried in the breeze. She turned onto Avalon Street, thankful for the overcast sky, and smiled. “She’s stubborn, I’ve told you. Thank you for offering, though.”

“Well, at least we know she’s not with you for your money.”

Katya rolled her eyes. “She’s with me for my good looks and endless charm, dad, _duh_.”

The two of them chatted until her dad had to go and answer a business call. Katya told him that she had one scheduled too, for first thing Monday morning.

“I’m really proud of you, Katya. Remember to run everything past Dan first and keep at it. Your mother and I are incredibly happy to see you working again, and doing what you love. Remember that. We love you and if you ever need anything, anything at all, we’re always here for you.”

She swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. “I will. Thank you. I love you too.”

At home, she messaged Trixie to update her on what her dad had said. Violet had invited them, along with Pearl, to an event hosted by American Express for their Centurion Card, of which Violet had been sent to promote. She had been offered her own black card in exchange for a series of photos on her instagram and her posting about the event on her stories. It was a sweet deal, especially as Katya got to go along and experience the perks without doing any of the work. Trixie had scoffed when Katya had explained it all but Katya could tell it was all for pretence. 

Trixie was on a job during the day, so Katya arranged to meet her at the eleventh floor penthouse at the Cooper Design Space in Downtown LA where the dinner was being held. Three world renowned chefs were due to create two courses each for every attendee. Katya had asked Violet for the dress code but she hadn’t been helpful (“I make my own dress code.”) so she donned her pink leather Gucci suit, mainly to see Trixie’s reaction to her wearing her favourite colour. She tried to put her hair up into some kind of purposefully-messy bun and paired it all with a thick black leather and diamante choker and some garishly patterned heeled boots. 

Katya heard her before she saw her, her scream laugh ringing out and making everyone in the makeshift reception area turn to her in surprise, if not total disapproval. Katya posed for Trixie, hand on her jutted out hip, her other arm flung behind her head like she was being photographed for a saucy calendar. 

“That suit!” She called out. Trixie reached her and kissed her square on the mouth, unaffected by the whispers of those around them. Katya grinned against her lips, kissing _her_ this time and taking a hold of her hand. She drew back and made Trixie twirl for her so she could take in the short, seventies style dress she had on. It had a high neck and a pale pink and olive green print on it (which would have looked revolting on anyone else but, as always, Trixie made it work). 

“That eye sore!” She quipped and pulled her into her side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they waited for Violet and Pearl to show up.

They were fashionably late, of course. By the time the four of them entered the hall where long white tables had been set out, floral arrangements down the centre of each and personalised place mats in front of every seat, most of the other guests had arrived. They were seated at the end of the third table. A string of naked lightbulbs hung above them, glowing golden, and a waiter was at their service immediately, offering them a selection of drinks and types of water. 

“Still iced water for Katya, then. The rest of us will have champagne.” Violet stated, positioning her phone by her right hand whilst her left held onto Pearl’s. “Do you do non-alcoholic cocktails?” She asked and frowned when the man said they didn’t. “You do now. My friend doesn’t drink. I want to ensure my followers can see your card perks accommodate all fine diners.” 

When the waiter retreated with his tail firmly tucked between his legs, Katya cackled. “You sure told him.” She squeezed Trixie’s thigh upon seeing her expression had turned more on the thunderous side and kissed her cheek, a silent message to let her know they would talk about her displeasure later. 

Despite Trixie’s annoyance towards Violet’s treatment of someone who was probably only making minimum wage, they all took videos for their stories, panning around the venue, and of each other. Katya was in charge of getting a good shot of Violet and her outfit for her main feed and Trixie filmed the process, cracking Pearl up with her commentary. “And here we have the wild fashionista in her natural habitat….”

The cocktail, when it eventually came, was up to scratch and Katya made sure to thank the poor guy. Whilst waiting for their first course, Katya took the opportunity to get to know Pearl a lot better, the both of them discussing the weird dolls she made. Pearl showed her pictures and talked through the process with her and Katya sneakily messaged her across the table to ask if she would have time to make one of Trixie before they both left town. Pearl wrote she would probably have to charge extra and Katya reassured her it wouldn’t be a problem, she just wanted to make sure Trixie was properly spoiled for their first Christmas together.

By their second course, Violet had everyone in stitches, recalling visiting Katya in Marlborough. Trixie’s face lit up at finally being able to get a story or two from Violet’s perspective and she cooed lovingly when Violet made fun of Katya’s bedroom at her parents’ house, filled with witchy books and creepy high school artwork.

“You’ll get to experience it firsthand, soon.” Katya marvelled.

They discussed their plans and Violet and Pearl told them theirs and Katya must have looked like she was having a moment because Trixie slung her arm around her shoulders and leaned into her side. The silent communication between them never failed to make Katya feel blessed by an angel.

“I love you so much.” Trixie whispered in her ear once the conversation lulled as Violet and Pearl took pictures of their artfully arranged food.

“I love you too.” Katya replied, smoothing her loose curls down her back. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Really? I would much rather be in bed with you right now, eating your pussy instead of this poncy stuff.” She retorted, quick as a flash. 

“Not what I meant.”

“Oh.” Realisation softened Trixie’s features and she huffed a laugh, and Katya kissed her and kissed her and kissed her because she could.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is everyone. The finished thing. Holy shit!
> 
> This has been such a challenging but rewarding experience for me. When I started this, mere months ago, I knew it would be emotional but I had no idea how much fun I would have, nor did I anticipate it helping me through a global pandemic! Writing this story has given me purpose, it's filled my days and it's certainly staved off the loneliness of quarantine - reading your comments and seeing the hit counter increase and increase has given me a lot of comfort. You guys are reading along with me. So I want to say a big, big thank you. It means so much to me to have you all along for the ride. 
> 
> So...I hope you enjoy the end. As our beloved Katya says: stay safe, stay sane, stay sexy xx

Before Katya had set herself up as an online translator, she had reread a lot of the books she had studied at Boston University and, of course, had poured over new releases too, both to refamiliarise herself with the extensive written language and for pure enjoyment. She had grappled with the perversions of English interpretations of Simone De Beauvoir, for example, people infamously often misconstruing her words. As much as it annoyed her, it helped her to pinpoint errors, to note where the present tense was used instead of the original conditional, where it had been read as her using ‘femininity’ when, really, De Beauvoir had meant ‘womanhood’. 

In contrast, she had consumed Anna Gavalda’s most contemporary work in one go. ‘Life, Only Better’ had been what she would consider an easy read and, whilst it was not the author’s best, in her opinion, she had resonated with certain phrases or sections and that had comforted her when she had been alone in her room, feeling far removed from her past and from others who were living in the present moment alongside her.

Katya and Trixie were due to fly to Boston on the twenty third of December as Trixie had one last event to do makeup for the day before. If Katya wasn’t in conference with her manufacturer or Amy, or wasn’t finalising her ideas with Fame and Violet for their launch event and shoots and campaigns, she was putting together the finishing touches of Trixie’s batch of gifts. She remembered a Gavalda quote, it popping into her head when she was shopping for a suitable card, and she thought it most fitting. She managed to find one with a glittery pink Christmas tree on the front, paid, and practically skipped all the long way home for how pleased with herself she was. 

She and Amy had viewed the prototypes of the clothing and had seemingly spent every waking moment with magnifying glasses and straining eyes, trying to spot the miniscule mistakes or faults as well as the more glaring ones. The t-shirt came out well the first time around, only needing a few changes here and there. When Violet had put it on, Katya thought she could have cried. 

With everything slowing down for the holidays, Katya was able to take the time to reflect on the progress of her work and her relationships. Not only had everything with Trixie improved beyond belief, but she found that her friendships with those who knew her before she had moved to LA became much stronger as well. Carrying around the weight of her secret had taken its toll on all aspects of her life, without her even realising sometimes. 

She had FaceTimed Dan and Shannon separately, to tell them the full story about Trixie as a kind of warning. It had taken them the good part of a week to even begin to get their heads round it and Katya promised to discuss it properly with them over the Christmas break. She wasn’t totally happy about what she’d had to do, and Shannon in particular had trouble believing her in the first place, but it was a relief to have confided in her siblings. 

The night before their flight, Trixie stayed with Katya. Her pink plastic suitcase took up so much space that Katya constantly made fun of her, nibbling on her ear and slapping her ass. The both of them joked around, coming up with increasingly more ridiculous things Trixie could have put in it, and fucked late into the night with the knowledge that they didn’t have to be up super early for their journey to the airport. 

“I can’t remember the last time I wore a proper winter coat.” Trixie said as she laid hers over her lap on the plane. She had the aisle seat as Katya offered to sit between her and the stranger by the window. Katya, cold already, wrapped her black faux fur around her shoulders. The flight was just over six hours. She had brought a small sketchbook and some pencils in her carry on luggage to keep her occupied alongside a book, music on her phone and Trixie’s company. Trixie ended up falling asleep a mere thirty minutes after take off so Katya took the time to draw her, first as she saw her right there, then in funny little cartoon-style scenarios to present to her when she woke up. 

They cuddled up together to watch something on Trixie’s iPad after Trixie had critiqued Katya’s storyboards, cracking them both up so they giggled, as hushed as possible, with their faces close together and their hands over their mouths. Katya wasn’t really paying attention. They shared a pair of earphones but, because she couldn’t hear the program that well, she was more inclined to keep stealing glances at Trixie, at how cute she looked in her pink flannel, her hair straightened and glossy. 

It was pitch black and below freezing by the time they arrived. The chill bit at them as they disembarked. They collected their bags once they’d gone through TSA and made their way to the airport exit hand in hand. Katya spotted her mom first, her short silver hair standing out amongst everyone else, and pulled Trixie along, breaking out into a jog and dodging other people to get to her faster. Katya crashed into her parents ungracefully, abruptly dropping her bags so she could fling an arm around each of their shoulders and pull them in.

The only proper argument she’d had with Trixie since Katya had shown Trixie her diaries was about Katya’s parents’ visit. Katya had kept meaning to tell Trixie, to find the right time, but she got so caught up in how wonderful everything was between them that she found that weeks upon weeks had passed and it just got harder to bring it up after so long. 

She had finally blurted it out five days before their departure date and Trixie, understandably, had hit the roof. More so because Katya hadn’t told her sooner than her having lied in the first place. Trixie understood her need to at the time. She wasn’t so forgiving of Katya’s lame excuse. Trixie was supposed to have been staying at Katya’s that night but, throwing a complete strop, she refused to see her. She only came round after Katya surprised her at her place. At first, she wouldn’t open the door to her and huffed that she wasn’t coming out of her room. Katya made her way around to the window of Trixie’s bedroom and did a silent montage, acting and miming out an elaborate apology, throwing some interpretive dance in there for good measure. Trixie couldn’t control her features by that point and relented, accepting her offering of remorse - though she still made Katya climb through her window as punishment. 

Katya stepped back to introduce Trixie. Her mom immediately hugged Trixie tight, winding her and catching her off guard, and Katya laughed when Trixie didn’t quite know what to do with her arms. Her dad went in for a more formal greeting, shaking Trixie’s hand and telling her how glad he was to finally meet her. They had agreed to keep up the storyline of Trixie having been too busy to see them last time as Katya wasn’t at all prepared to tell her parents everything over the phone, especially after the emotional toll it took on her telling Dan and Shannon that way. Thankfully, Trixie respected her wishes. Katya’s dad led them to the car and Katya took hold of Trixie’s hand as they dragged their luggage to the trunk.

Trixie made a quiet noise of surprise and Katya rolled her eyes at her, knowing she had assumed they would have a big fancy car. Instead, her dad’s Nissan Sentra was several years old by this point. She was just relieved that he’d had it cleaned prior to them arriving.

It was roughly a forty minute drive to Katya’s parents’ house from the airport. Katya and Trixie sat in the back seat, Trixie looking more rigid, like she was trying to be proper, than Katya thought comfortable. As her mom and dad navigated the freeway, Katya whispered to Trixie, letting her know she could relax, that her parents were chill and her mom was almost as kooky as she was.

They chatted away about Trixie’s work and the events she had been doing makeup for recently. Katya talked her up whenever she could whilst trying not to embarrass or patronise her. “You should do Katya’s make up sometime.” Her mom said. “She needs it.”

The car erupted with screeches, Katya calling her every name under the sun. Her dad caught her gaze in the rear view mirror and winked, the way he did when he wanted to communicate with her like they were sharing a secret. For some reason, Katya wondered if her dad had figured out who Trixie was. Trixie quipped that Katya was beyond salvation and the rest of their journey home was filled with laughter. 

It was late when they got through the front door. Dan and his wife and son were due to arrive first thing in the morning and Shannon at some point around midday. Katya’s mom promised Trixie a proper tour of the house once they’d had breakfast. “I’ve set your room up for you. There are towels and some toiletries for you on the bed and, please, help yourself to anything in the fridge at any time. You’re very welcome here, you’re part of the family now.” 

If it wasn’t so dark, Katya would have been able to see the blush bloom on Trixie’s cheeks. She had only applied a light BB cream for travelling and had told Katya she would probably go bare faced for the holidays, anyway, sick to the back teeth of shimmery eyeshadows and seasonal products. 

“Thank you very much. I’ve, uh, not been to a family Christmas in, uh, years, so…”

Katya’s mom must have sensed Trixie’s unease because she kissed both their cheeks, wished them goodnight and dragged Katya’s dad up the stairs beside her to leave them to it.

Trixie took a deep breath. “Sorry, I feel like an idiot.”

“Nothing to apologise for. If our roles were reversed you just know I’d be standing in a pile of my own vomit right about now. You’ve handled everything brilliantly so far. Come on, let’s get to bed.”

Katya offered to carry Trixie’s ginormous suitcase up the stairs and, when Trixie protested at first, made sure to tell her that her bedroom was another floor up after that. Trixie soon allowed her. Katya hoisted the case, leaving her own where it was, and led the way along a dim corridor and up some narrower stairs. She flicked the light on as they got to the landing, two doors on perpendicular walls. “I will warn you, it’s big, but that’s only because I effectively lived up here for five years and I needed my own space.” 

As she brought Trixie over the threshold and dumped her luggage to the side, Trixie swore. “You weren’t lying. This must be, like, the whole top floor, right?”

Katya explained how her parents’ builder knocked through the walls of two bedrooms (one of which was indeed her childhood one) and a jack and jill bathroom to make one huge room with an en suite. “The other room up here is the gym which, you can imagine, I started to use a lot once I was feeling better.” 

“Ok, princess.” Trixie deadpanned. Katya kissed her hard on the cheek and left her to unpack and acclimatise whilst she collected her own suitcase and got some water for them both. She also smuggled a box of Lindt Lindor milk chocolates up with her. It was late but she was peckish and buzzed from actually having Trixie in her room in the house she grew up in.

Trixie was going back and forth between her case and the en suite, setting out all her skincare. She had taken her coat and jeans off so she was just in her flannel and her underwear. Katya stopped dead in her tracks. “Holy _shit_.” 

“What’s up?” Trixie hollered from where she had made one last trip to the sink. 

Katya quickly put everything down and rid herself of as much of her clothing as she could in such a short amount of time. “Come here and find out.” She called out and smirked when Trixie’s head popped around the wall, eyes widening comically.

Trixie, to Katya’s delight, had no qualms about fucking in her parents’ house, reasoning that it was so big anyway, there was no way they would hear, and it wasn’t as if they were doing it in Katya’s childhood bed. “Mama, that would have just got me all hot and bothered even more.” Katya said with her hand on her chest, dramatically.

“You are disgusting.” Trixie told her but she soon shut up when Katya opened up her shirt, pulled her breasts out of her bra cups and shoved her briefs down her legs in practically one swift move. She pressed her into the mattress, sucking on her nipples and rutting against her like they were horny teenagers. 

Once they’d both come, stifling their moans against each other’s mouths, Katya fed Trixie a few chocolates, sharing one as it melted in their kiss. Katya, unsurprisingly, managed to get her chin and cheeks mucky so they both stood, bumping hips, at Katya’s sink and washed their hands and faces. They brushed their teeth before cuddling up and falling asleep, peaceful and content, sharing a heavy blanket and each other’s body heat. 

Katya woke up the next morning to Trixie sitting with her pillows stacked behind her back, on her phone. “Don’t mind me,” Trixie said absentmindedly, “I’m just giving the group chat an in depth report on the sheer craziness of your room.” In the light of day, she couldn’t really argue. The space appeared even larger with the sun shining through the sky light in the bathroom and the windows which overlooked the back garden. 

Her walls were a pale grey. There was a tapestry hung up on the wall by her headboard that she had bought in Thailand during her first yoga retreat and a giant print in sanskrit of her favourite of Pantanjali’s sutras. Further along, besides shelves upon shelves of books ranging from the witchy to the Russian classics, were several canvases. They weren’t hung up, just leaning instead, and featured some of her high school art. Her pregnant matryoshka stood out as the most colourful of her work. Opposite, there was also a desk with her old iMac and a stack of French literature - including ‘Life, Only Better’ - a yoga mat, a chaise lounge and, of course, a massive wardrobe.

“Please don’t tell me you have even more clothes in that thing.” Trixie finished typing her message and put her phone down, bringing her pillows flat again so Katya could pull her towards her chest.

“I’m afraid I do. Vintage, mainly, a lot of the stuff I wore in New York, plus some basics so I don’t need to bring much back when I visit here.”

They eventually made it downstairs. Trixie convinced Katya to let her get showered and dressed so she felt more put together for breakfast with the whole family. Katya did the same, pulling on some black skinny jeans and getting out her vintage black and white Commes Des Garçons jumper. Before opening her door, Katya held Trixie’s glowing, moisturised face in her hands, kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose, her chin, a random spot over her eyebrow and, finally, her lips. “They’re all going to fall in love with you. Try not to worry.”

“Cool, I’ve always wanted to fuck a dad. That would really resolve my issues from when I was a kid, I think.” Trixie wisecracked, sardonic as ever. Their laughter rang down the hallway. Katya listened out for commotion in the kitchen as they descended towards the ground floor and the clatter of bowls and clanging of pans brought her back to hearing such noises every morning. She didn’t miss it, necessarily, but the sounds were comforting and reliable. 

Katya’s mom gave them both a hug good morning and told them to sit at the table as pancakes with maple syrup and fruit were almost ready. Trixie offered to help but was waved away so she poured Katya some orange juice and Katya kissed under her jaw, smiling into it because she could tell Trixie didn’t like not being able to be useful in some way. “You’re so sweet.” She whispered in her ear.

Dan got there just in time, holding the baby on his hip and a gift bag bursting with presents in his other hand as Angie brought in a crate of Moët & Chandon, suggesting mimosas. It was all chaotic as Katya introduced Trixie, standing to be polite but mainly to try and subtly punch Dan in the arm when he was staring too long at her. Katya swooped the baby into her arms, making expressive faces at him for a while and kissing his chubby fingers and cheeks, before he started to wriggle too much and she handed him back to Angie with a sigh of relief. The six of them tucked into breakfast once the baby had been put in his highchair and conversation flowed, everyone interested in Trixie and what she thought of the house so far, asking what she usually did for Christmas.

By the time they were all on their second glass of champagne (orange juice forgotten about), Katya had to kick Dan under the table and tell him to stop being weird in Russian. Trixie gave her a questioning glance but said nothing more on the matter. Dan soon behaved when Katya threatened to slice his dick up like a Christmas turkey. Their mom and dad were confused about the outburst and Katya reassured them all was fine, it was just typical brother and sister banter. 

Angie asked if they had gotten caterers to do their Christmas food like her parents had. Katya smiled amusedly at Trixie’s visible tension, then her loosening when Dan retorted that, apart from Katya, his family wasn’t “fucking weird” like hers. Katya made a show of covering the baby’s ears and Trixie relaxed enough to cackle.

All their plates and glasses were left on the table for Katya’s dad to tidy up upon his instruction. Her mom announced the beginning of “Trixie’s Grand Tour”. 

The ground floor consisted of the kitchen and dining area, which had two sets of large patio windows overlooking the garden and veranda, where there was a table and umbrella for the summer months. To the right of the kitchen was a utility room with an industrial sized washer dryer and some plain countertops and cupboards. “I spent far too long in here when the kids were growing up. The mess! I wouldn’t have it any other way though.” Her mom exclaimed to Trixie. There was also a small bathroom next to it. 

Down the corridor were two lounges, which they called the front and the back lounge. The back lounge had another lovely view of Katya’s dad’s rose bushes and, beyond them, the pond which, right then, was frozen over. “Katya used to talk to herself down there. I was sure she was rehearsing for the role of Narcissus, at one point, the amount of time she’d be peering into the water!”

“There were frogs, mom, oh my god you’re so embarrassing.” Katya affected, pulling her into her side and giving her a squeeze.

Katya could tell Trixie liked the homeliness of the back lounge. Katya’s dad’s arm chair was worn and comfortable and the sofa was adorned in thick, knitted blankets and tartan throws. There were bookcases on each side of a fireplace which reached the ceiling, and a wooden desk with an office chair cluttered with books and papers and folders. The front lounge was a contrast, modernly decorated and spotless, not a thing out of place. There was a fifty inch TV mounted on the wall and leather sofas and footstools surrounding a glass coffee table. The windows faced the drive and the wooden gate which secluded the property from the road. A chandelier hung in the centre of the room and Trixie commented how she wouldn’t mind having one of those, only in pink.

“We are never moving in together.” Katya deadpanned and Trixie playfully swiped at her. 

“You’ll come round to living in my Barbie dreamhouse, just you wait and see.”

Katya’s mom looked all too pleased with herself and Dan raised his eyebrows behind Trixie’s back, teasing but approving nonetheless. 

Katya followed along with the rest of her mom’s house tour, Trixie's hand in hers. She tapped gently at her waist whenever she could see Trixie really liked something and maneuvered her whenever there was a squash in a corridor or a doorway. Katya didn’t really know why Dan wasn’t back in the kitchen with Angie but she supposed he liked to have the opportunity to inconspicuously observe his little sister and the woman who changed everything for her.

They all rejoined in the back lounge and discussed their plans for the rest of the day. Katya announced that she wanted to take Trixie on a walk around the neighbourhood so it was agreed that she would do so up until lunchtime, when Shannon was due to arrive, and then she would be in charge of making the gingerbread cookies and arranging the presents under the tree. “You never let me do anything, why am I now all of a sudden given such responsibility?” She squawked. 

“Because you’ve gushed for months about how good Trixie is with food so if she’s around to keep you in check, there’s nothing we have to worry about.”

“Dan!” Katya’s mom went to tell him off but had second thoughts. “No, he’s right actually. You don’t mind, do you, Trixie? I’ll give you the recipe but if there’s anything else you want to make or if you do, god forbid, want to let Katya do it, just let me know.” 

“Very happy to do it, don’t worry. Your lovely house won’t be going up in flames under my watch.”

Katya and Trixie put their coats on and pulled on their boots. Katya wrapped Trixie’s scarf around her neck, giving her a kiss once she was satisfied before shoving on a black beanie with a white pentagram embroidered on the front over her hair. Her roots were coming through as she hadn’t had time to go to the hairdressers amongst everything else going on and, besides, she didn’t want her ears to get all red from being outside too long. 

“Do you ever notice how people’s heads smell nasty when they’re coming in from the cold?” She wondered aloud as she dragged Trixie out the front door, calling out a “see you later” to the rest of her family. 

“No!” Trixie scream laughed. “What do you mean, like, from wearing hats and, like, your hair gets all fuzzy?”

“No no no, like, you know how you come in? And your head smells kinda nasty?”

They burst into hysterics as Katya led them to the right of the driveway. She showed Trixie the bush she mentioned in her first diary entry and lamented how she hadn’t spotted a raccoon in the neighbourhood ever since.

“What a shame.” Trixie said, sarcastic as ever, linking her arm with Katya’s so they were as close together as possible whilst moving.

Katya took her to the grassy area on which she had first got completely wasted with Molko and Jen, and pointed out the Carptenters’ house, where Marianne and Rick still lived, unchanged and seemingly happy with their lot. They ended up at the park, deserted but for a toddler playing on the slide and her dad watching her like a hawk, like she would break her neck at any moment. They sat on the swings with their feet still on the floor, barely going back and forth. Katya stared at Trixie in disbelief that she was there, she was in the place Michele had kissed her all those years ago and Katya was a whole new person getting to experience a relationship properly this time around. 

It felt corrective. It felt right.

“I love you, Trixie Mattel. Sorry about Dan, he’s still not come to terms with...you.” Katya admitted, resting her head against the thick chain of the swing.

“Ah, I wondered what all the Russian was about. I just assumed you were cursing him for hogging the strawberries. Are you going to tell your parents?” She mirrored Katya’s position, face open and eyes wide, watching Katya as she sighed. 

“I think so. I might pull them aside tonight. I don’t want to ruin tomorrow but...I can’t keep this from them either. Is that alright with you? I’m not making things more difficult for you am I?”

The corners of Trixie’s mouth upturned. “I’m not with you for the easy ride. You have such a wonderful bond with your parents, especially now. They love you so much and, because you love me, I feel it too, which is remarkable, honestly, so alien to a poor, abused kid like me.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Katya interjected with a wheezing laugh, knowing what game she was playing. 

“No but, seriously, you know what’s the right thing to do.”

Katya nodded so her beanie fell back from the friction against the chain. She pulled it down all the way over her eyebrows. “I do now. You’ve helped configure my moral compass.”

“That’s all you, Kat. You might still think of me as some magic blessing sometimes, which I won’t complain about ‘cause, honey, have you seen me?” She flipped her hair and scream laughed, shaking the swing and getting distracted from her original point.

“But?” Katya prompted.

“But I’m not your saviour. I’m your girlfriend and I love you very much.”

-

Trixie had deftly got Angie and Dan talking about the baby, having asked to hold him after dinner, giving Katya the opportunity to take her parents to the front lounge for a chat. Shannon had arrived just as Katya and Trixie got back from their walk and the afternoon was spent catching up and, in Katya’s case, following Trixie’s orders to a T lest she feel her wrath as well as the rest of her family’s. She’d had fun, especially when she flicked flour at Trixie and received a surprisingly brazen slap on the ass for it. 

Her dad had a tumbler of his favourite bourbon in his hand, her mom had only just finished up with the stuffing and cranberry sauce with Shannon before Katya had accosted her. Once they had sat, Katya steeled herself. She was used to the whole spiel now and something deep within her assured her she had nothing to be worried about, which was refreshing. She hadn’t eradicated the negativity completely (she was still human) but disclosing her past had also eased her general anxiety too. 

“So…” She began, suddenly at a loss as to what to say. She had _shown_ Trixie and the idea popped into her head to do something similar with them. 

“What’s up, darling?” Her dad asked.

Katya took her phone out of her pocket, opening her Google Drive to her old artwork. She didn’t know which would be the best example for them but, as she was re-embarking on her career in fashion, she pulled up her Gucci collection. She chose from the photos which vogue.com had posted soon before the collection’s official release date where they detailed each piece. She selected the dress, which had been her favourite, and turned her screen towards them.

They both squinted and leaned forward and Katya got off her own seat to kneel in front of them so they could see better.

“Yes…?” Her mom frowned at her, not getting it. Katya noticed her dad kept looking at the picture.

“The artwork on those clothes, all of my artwork around that time - it was all kinda the same, had the same subject. I was obsessed, she was my muse and she was part of the reason I got...how I did.”

“You never told us much about it all, we didn’t want to pry.” Her dad said, not taking his eyes off Katya’s screen. Her arm began to ache. 

“I know. Well, I’m ready to tell you because she’s come into my life for real this time and I don’t want to let my past ruin my present, and I’m so proud of her and how different she is to how I, uh, how I imagined her.” She put her phone on the floor so both her parents could focus on her.

“What do you mean?” Her mom asked.

“You know I began taking drugs early and felt depressed and anxious and everything all the time. When I first started properly using hallucinogens, I would always see a woman. Almost every time I took more than a certain amount, there she’d be. I saw her as a can-can lady in the carpet, as a fucking sunflower in one of our neighbour’s gardens, as someone visiting me in my room and sitting by me to listen to me talk out my feelings, as a _bride_ …” She trailed off, hoping one of them would twig.

“So your ‘Deconstructed Bride’ we came to see wasn’t based on that street performer you went on about all the time?” Her mom leaned further forward, what little eyebrows she had pushed together in questioning. 

“Only partly. The woman I would hallucinate inspired everything. I never expected her to be such a hit and then when Gucci wanted to collaborate with me, I was swept up in a whole other insanity. By that point, I saw her as the only reliable figure in my life that I hadn’t previously tainted by my...instability. So then when I sold her off, I went even more crazy because I felt even more guilt than I did already.”

“She wasn’t real but you grew to be comforted by her so much that you considered her as such, in a way, is that what you’re saying?” 

Her dad remained silent, listening. Katya nodded. “Jump forward to me moving to LA. I was better, we had fixed our relationship, I was so fucking happy and I was finally free of any concerns about my mental health. I met Trixie and it was suddenly like everything I had worked so fucking hard for, and that you both had helped me with, was flipped upside down, counted for next to nothing.”

“Why? You’ve only ever sang her praises. Katya, I don’t have a clue what you’re—”

“Pat, let her finish.” Her dad’s voice was calm and low. 

“Trixie is…” She huffed a laugh. “Well, she’s a lot of things. I showed you her picture when you came to visit but I picked certain ones so it wouldn’t be obvious. And now she’s here, not wearing makeup, it’s…” Katya shook her head, grabbed hold of her phone again and pulled up a selfie the two of them took at the American Express event. Trixie’s makeup was bold and angular and everything Katya had spent years capturing as accurately as she could. “This is _her_. The same but...different.”

Her mom took her phone out of her hands and looked down on it in that way middle aged white people did, which never failed to make Katya laugh and make fun of her for, even in such an important moment. Her mom asked more questions and Katya clarified and her dad still didn’t say anything but he offered out his hand and Katya took it, holding on with a firm grip. It must have been at least over an hour since Katya had sequestered them, she thought, but she would have readily taken all the time in the world to ensure they were suitably given the full story. 

Afterwards, when they had expressed similar sentiments to everyone else she had told and had given Katya a thoroughly good cuddle, she took Shannon aside to check they were alright, too. They were, Shannon told her, simply but nonetheless resolute, it had just always been difficult for her, to reconcile what she once knew of Katya to the Katya she knew, deep down. So Katya throwing her another surprise had been disorientating. 

When Katya eventually emerged, Trixie was sat in the back lounge on her dad’s arm chair with the baby on her lap - a natural. Dan and Angie were in the kitchen enjoying their temporary release, and her mom, dad and Shannon brought in Trixie’s cookies, bottles of wine and champagne and some non-alcoholic fizz for Katya. The fire had been lit and everyone came to settle down to toast each other a Merry Christmas in front of it. 

“We also need to toast something else.” Her dad spoke up, everyone’s head whipping around to face him. “Trixie, it’s been a delight spending the day with you, getting to know you and seeing how happy you make Katya but, also, how happy Katya makes you. We’re delighted to have you as part of the family, if you’ll accept us, and we hope to see you more often from now on. To Trixie and Katya.” He raised his glass, everyone else following suit and repeating. Katya dashed over to Trixie’s side, smushing her cheek with a kiss and whispering how much she loved her in her ear, ignoring how the baby was reaching up to grab a tiny fistful of her hair. 

After copious amounts of food and drink and bad Christmas TV specials, Katya was done. It was fifteen minutes before midnight when she announced she couldn’t keep her eyes open any more. Trixie glanced at her incredulously but said goodnight to everyone and followed her up the stairs, catching up with her along the corridor and pulling her back so her ass pressed into Trixie’s front. “You’re not tired.” She stated and Katya shivered at her voice in her ear, melting into her touch.

“No, I wanted you to myself. Come on.” She tugged her along. “There are some presents for you I didn’t leave under the tree.”

Trixie made increasingly crude guesses as to what said presents could be until they reached Katya’s room. Katya closed the door behind them and pushed Trixie right up against it, kissing her hard and messily. She ran her hands over Trixie’s chest and squeezed her breasts through her jumper as Trixie wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Katya leaned all her weight forwards, trapping Trixie exactly where she was, and slid her tongue across her bottom lip before Trixie opened up for her, panting and needy, just like Katya wanted. 

Katya purposefully didn’t take it any further than a makeout session for the time being, stepping away once Trixie was getting more and more forceful and frustrated. “I want my gift.” She complained and Katya huffed a laugh.

“You can have _that one_ after you’ve opened these.” Katya went to her suitcase and lifted out the card she had bought and an old silk Gucci scarf she had been given years ago but had rarely worn as the colour scheme (pinks and muted florals) were hard to work in with her existing wardrobe. She had used the scarf to wrap two of Trixie’s presents. “Read the card first.” She instructed as she sat on the bed, Trixie coming to join her and survey the little spread. 

“Ok…” She tore open the envelope and grinned at the pink tree on the front of the card before opening it and reading aloud. “‘You don’t meet the people you love, you recognise them.’ Merry Christmas my love, my dream woman, my real woman, my everything. I can’t wait for all the others we will share together. Katya.” She raised her head, eyes full of tears. “ _Katya_.”

Katya beamed at her and explained the significance of the Gavalda quote. “Go on, baby, look at the rest.”

Trixie, with care, undid the scarf and set it aside, mentioning how she would use it in her hair. She burst into laughter as she saw Pearl’s creepy doll version of herself looking back at her, her massive, exaggerated tits and protruding nipples and her very accurately depicted pussy indeed not at all suitable for unwrapping amongst Katya’s family. “I spent _a lot_ of time describing you on the phone to Pearl, she knows way too much now.” Katya quipped. “I was so torn up when I came back from seeing my parents and you had given me that fabulous Barbie. This is my way of— I can’t put all that right but...it’s an offering. And also just straight up _sexy_.”

“I love it, oh my god.” Trixie petted it, placing it carefully on the bedside table for the time being and then brought her attention to the clear plastic covered item in front of her. “This looks like an ASOS parcel but, like, way more expensive.” She mused, ripping it open and pulling out the material. She held it at arm's length, shoulder height, and gasped. “Holy shit!”

“It’s unfortunately not in your size ‘cause we had to make all our prototypes in sample sizes but, behold! The final version of the Trixie t-shirt and the very first one to make its way out of the factory. Officially available for purchase online in twenty twenty one!”

Trixie practically threw it out of the way so she could pounce on Katya and Katya would have been more miffed at her disregard for it (and potentially creasing it) were she not completely absorbed by Trixie murmuring “thank you, thank you, thank you” into each of her kisses and the way she managed to get her hand down Katya’s pants in record time. 

Katya came more times than she could count that night and, with Trixie in her arms, fell asleep smiling, safe in the knowledge that she really had done her best by her.

-

“Ok, Trixie and Katya’s turn and then we really should start getting the food ready.” Shannon proclaimed, a pile of scrunched up wrapping paper beside her ready to be recycled. Everyone else had opened their gifts with choruses of gratitude but, with so many of them, especially for the baby, it had taken all morning.

“Ladies first.” Katya gestured to Trixie, who conceded and tore into the wrapping paper around a rather flat box. She lifted the lid and Katya watched her inspect the bright blue dress she’d designed and had made for her. Its chest, neck and long sleeves were structured with ruffles upon ruffles upon ruffles and the hem was short, just as Trixie liked. “That’s for my launch event. You’ll be able to boast a custom Katya Zamolodchikova piece to the press.” 

Trixie practically screamed when she stood up to hold it up against herself. “This is so, so perfect.” Everyone else cooed in agreement. 

Katya also bought Trixie refills of her favourite makeup, a voucher for a massage at a spa and a weird, demented-looking Barbie charm to hang from her rearview mirror in her car. There was one final gift in her pile. It was a small box wrapped with an elegant pink ribbon. Trixie looked to her with her eyebrow raised before opening it to reveal a key.

“This isn’t the key to your vampire dungeon is it?” She joked.

“Not this time, sadly. Just my apartment.”

Trixie froze. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Assured, Katya smiled. “I’m giving you the option, yes. If you just want to have it so you can come by whenever, then that’s f—”

“Oh my god, we’re moving in together!” She interrupted, clearly not needing to entertain another preference. She jumped up and hugged Katya, wiggling her from side to side and rubbing her back. “You are amazing, I love it all, everything. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Katya said into the crook of Trixie’s neck, partly to hide the embarrassment on her face as her family whooped and cheered and clapped, congratulating them.

Everybody stuck around as Katya opened her family’s presents but she asked them to leave them be for Trixie’s. She had no idea what she’d got her and it didn’t matter to her, really, but she could tell Shannon had been getting worried about keeping to schedule, so she was more than pleased to have the room to themselves as she took hold of the first gift. 

Katya tore up the paper like a feral cat, revealing what appeared to be diary, only chunkier, its pages evidently filled.

“Ok, hear me out. This might sound lame but...after I gave you your diaries back, I got to thinking, like, I’m not one to sit down and write out my feelings or whatever but...reading all your words, your memories and thoughts about things from years ago, it inspired me to do something similar. I want to be able to look back, decades down the line, and know exactly what you wore to meet my friends for the first time - although, I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget _that_ dress - and what food we ate at a fancy event. I want to remember how you smiled at me and what Angels Point looked like on a Saturday morning and how you set out the treats you got for me when I was stressed on your table. I want to remember everything. So, I did this. For you. For us.” 

Katya opened the front cover, flicked through page after page of photos and receipts and tickets and tiny mementos that amounted to the sheer enormity of their love. It was a scrapbook of their history, of how Trixie could turn a difficult aspect of Katya’s life into an inspirational one, not once overwriting her experiences or removing her from them, but using them to build something different and new. Trixie accepted her, every instance of her, and Katya would have put it down to sheer luck to have found someone so patient and kind and loving, but she knew, more than ever, that it was far greater than that. Whether it was fate or destiny or somehow predetermined, she had Trixie in her life and that was more than she could ever have imagined.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave it there lmao. Fashion Katya needed to properly rise again!

Katya was woken early on the morning of her collection’s launch event by Trixie licking long, slow stripes up her cunt. She was brought into consciousness with a sigh, the pulsations between her legs becoming more insistent, more present and enticing to pay attention to. She blinked open her eyes to the bobbing movement of their sheets, heat spreading throughout her body at the speed of lightning. She gently placed her hand over Trixie’s head and could feel the smile forming against her mound.

“Good morning.” Trixie mumbled, moving up Katya’s body so her head popped out of the covers. Trixie kissed her, tame and close-mouthed at first until Katya bit down on her bottom lip and tugged at it, nibbling before releasing her.

“Hello.” Katya grinned, stealing another kiss before cheekily telling her to get back to work.

Trixie squeezed her boob in response but threw the sheets off of them both so she could once more bury her face between Katya’s spread legs. The day would be hectic and chaotic. Katya was grateful that Trixie was taking her time, applying only a light pressure to draw out Katya’s soft moans, to keep her on the edge for longer than she had in a good while.

In the run up to the big day, Katya had been run ragged. Although Amy had primarily dealt with the event organisation, Katya had helped out more and more as her confidence grew, and made suggestions which Amy hadn’t thought of. The event was the first unveiling of the collection as well as the promotional photos and materials for the press and the website. Fame, Violet, herself and Amy had worked tirelessly to call in all their possible contacts and connections, and had managed to get representatives from a range of online websites plus print fashion journalists, alongside suitable influencers and models, to attend with the promise of write ups, blog posts or photos being published. 

To have Trixie soothing her, keeping her calm but just on the right side of frustrated, was a blessing. Katya’s toes curled as Trixie finally began to flatten her tongue, making broader strokes up each side of her hood and then right over her clit. She tipped her head back into her pillow, sinking her fingers into Trixie’s knotted, greasy hair. Katya had told her she wanted to wash it for her that morning, in return for Trixie styling her hair later. She tugged, becoming desperate for more. Trixie sucked and hummed against her, the vibrations driving her to distraction. 

She tilted her hips up, rolling them in time with Trixie’s licks, and tightened the grip she had on Trixie’s roots. Trixie eased off, wiping at her chin with the back of her hand. Katya propped herself up on her elbows so she could look into her eyes, sending her silent messages of gratitude, compliments abound, despite her incapability to verbalise them in the moment, too wound up and breathless. 

Trixie leaned up to kiss her one more time before pressing her face as close as she could to Katya’s cunt, bobbing faster and faster until Katya came, her whole body taut and shaking. Trixie lapped at her until her orgasm petered out, kissing her quivering thighs and fluttering stomach and the slope underneath her ribs. 

“Fuck…” Katya breathed, wrapping her arms around Trixie’s neck. Trixie, hovering over her, dipped her head and took her mouth, canting her hips down in an attempt to get some friction. Katya smirked into their next kiss. Trixie usually gave Katya a few moments to come down before she expected something in return. Not that morning, and Katya was all too happy to oblige, trailing her hand down between them to rub at Trixie’s clit.

Trixie was insatiable, never taking her lips off Katya’s, even when she let out a particularly high pitched screech as Katya slid two fingers inside her, adding a third when she had stretched her out and her wetness was dripping down to her palm. Trixie didn’t usually stay on top, either, but Katya liked the different angles she could reach, the way Trixie braced herself against Katya’s shoulders to raise herself up and screw herself down. Katya's wrist ached but she couldn’t care less, entranced by Trixie’s breasts bouncing heavily, by her eyes rolling to the back of her head. 

Their bed creaked as Trixie’s thrusts got more erratic and frantic. Katya could feel her fingers wrinkle from how wet they were and her whole arm was hurting but she only moved faster, went deeper. Trixie panted, her soft lips dragging exquisitely against Katya’s. 

“Please.” Trixie begged. She didn’t need to elaborate, Katya knew what for. 

“Kneel over my face.” She ordered and Trixie visibly shook herself out of her daze to comply immediately.

Katya brought her hands to grab at what she affectionately called Trixie’s “ass meat”. She spread her cheeks and took a good look at her, at how wet she was, at where it hid in her folds or caught in her pubic hair.

“Please.” Trixie repeated, trembling.

Katya tapped her thighs so she knew when to lower herself, and Katya brought her face up to her, eating her out, completely unrestrained, no control over the mania of her movements. Trixie sank down further and Katya thought that if she had to die, suffocating on Trixie’s pussy would be the way to go. 

It didn’t take long for Trixie to come, after that, her climax long and rolling in waves that peaked and troughed. 

“Happy launch event day.” Trixie said, cuddling into Katya’s chest once she had collapsed on top of her. She pressed a kiss over Katya’s heart and Katya thought, for the millionth time that year already, that it would explode for how much she _felt_. “Are you nervous?”

Katya reflected. “I am but...it’s the good kind, the kind that mingles with excitement and shows me I care. I know, deep down, Amy and I and everyone have worked our hardest. We’ve done all we can to make sure everything goes well so...I can’t complain one bit.”

Katya drew a bath for Trixie, putting all her favourite oils in the steaming water, and sat on the edge of the tub, still naked, to wash her hair. She used a glass jug to pour water over her hair, flattening it down her back, and ran her hands down where the water flowed, over her smooth skin. Trixie hummed with satisfaction and Katya, for all that she was excited and filled with apprehension about how the day would go, was getting turned on again, just from the experience of doing something for Trixie and seeing the effect it had on her. Katya was pleased to note that, years ago, she wouldn’t have been able to feel at peace enough not to let her agenda consume her, whereas now she could focus on the way Trixie closed her eyes and tipped her head back and asked Katya to kiss her in between applications of shampoo and conditioner. 

They didn’t talk much, enjoying the quiet before the onslaught, and Katya loved how she could just sit and watch Trixie and never get bored. 

Katya showered and washed her hair as Trixie did her skincare and started blow drying her own. A couple of days previously, Katya had gone to her hairdressers and had asked for a trim, wanting to keep her long length as well her platinum blonde colour, but fancied a change, ending up with a mid-forehead fringe that cut up into the sides of her temples. Trixie had called it her fashion fringe, pointing out the last time she had one was when she was in New York, promoting her first collection and attending fashion weeks. Katya had genuinely not realised and, for a moment, had worried - completely irrationally - that it _meant something_ and that maybe she shouldn’t have done it. Trixie told her to stop being an idiot and they had laughed together at Katya’s temporary foolishness. 

Katya sat at the vanity, wrapped in her towel. She was hopeless at styling her hair and she had relied on looking purposefully dishevelled for a good while to match or contrast her outfits. For her launch, she wanted to appear like she had everything together, like she knew what the hell she was doing, even if a lot of the process had been trial and error and relying on other people’s expertise. Whether she was yet one hundred percent comfortable with it or not, that fact of the matter was - she was the name behind (and of) the brand. She wanted to look the part, at least just for that day. 

Trixie blow dried all her hair straight to begin with, maintaining some volume at her roots. She ensured Katya’s fringe was completely aligned to emphasise the razor cut effect and plugged her curling wand in. “I’m gonna do thick waves. It’ll look bad at first but once I brush it out, you’ll look so good.” Trixie said as she got to work. The heat from the iron made Katya all sweaty and antsy, shifting from one butt bone to the other on her seat, but observing Trixie sorting her out kept her suitably occupied and, soon enough, she was posing in her mirror, pouting her lips and swishing her hair as if she was in a L’oreal ad. 

Although the event started at four, Katya and Trixie needed to be at the venue as early as possible to help set up, get all the models ready and to ensure everything was as it should be. They decided it was best to do hair and makeup at home but take their outfits with them to change into just before doors opened. Trixie did her own makeup whilst Katya rang Amy, who was on her way, to go over last minute preparations and their to do list, and then she did Katya’s - a blue metallic smokey eye with her signature red lip. Trixie had a little pot of jewels to take with her and glue on under Katya’s bottom lashes and under her eyebrows, and she packed some glitter for herself, too. 

The dress Katya had had made for Trixie hung in a garment bag behind their bedroom door. Katya’s dress lay flat on their bed, sequins and beading reflecting the light shining in through the windows. She pulled on some jeans and an off-the-shoulder plain black t-shirt. 

“Ready?” Trixie asked, once they’d done a sweep of the place to check they hadn’t forgotten anything. Trixie had her kit in the car already. Katya shouldered her bag and picked up their dresses to take out with them.

“I actually am!” She exclaimed with delight. Taking Trixie’s hand, she walked outside into the fresh air of a new morning content that, with her woman by her side, she could do this. 

-

Trixie and Kim were rushed off their feet. It was only the two of them doing everyone’s faces. Katya had checked that they could handle it and they had insisted they could but, watching them running from Violet to Fame to Naomi and onwards, getting their bases done as they all sat, either chatting or glued to their phones, Katya couldn’t help but be concerned. They had an hour and half before showtime. “Are you sure you’ll be finished in time?” She asked Trixie.

“Kat, if you say that to me again, I’m going to shove this brush so far up your ass you won’t—”

“Ok! Ok!” She put her hands up in defence and thought it best to go check on Amy and keep out of Trixie’s way.

Amy had asked for a few of her friends to model. She had prepared a whole speech to convince Katya to showcase a range of body types and shapes and Katya had laughed, exclaiming, “Girl, I’m with you! If you hadn’t mentioned it first, I would have.” One of Amy’s friends was trans and, when she had shown Katya a picture, Katya was enamoured instantly, their eyebrows pencil thin and fiercely arched and their style like the more gothic version of Amy’s. Katya had enlisted Pearl, Shea and had somehow managed to convince Kim too, to take part. She was proud of being able to demonstrate her clothes were accessible to everyone, though it saddened her that such a thing was still considered a statement in the industry. Since her stint with Gucci, however, the environment was changing for the better. 

The element that had first daunted Kim was walking down a catwalk. She could barely get down the street without tripping up, and that was in her signature look of baggy shorts and oversized denim jackets. Katya had explained to her that no one would be on a catwalk, that she had decided to merge her experience with fashion weeks and galleries by doing a kind of exhibition - each model would wear an item or an outfit from the collection, get into one position and pose, only moving when they became uncomfortable, until they all left the ‘stage’ together to change into their next look. The audience would be in tiered seating but would be given the option to roam around like they would in a gallery to take in the details of each piece and photograph or film the models up close. Kim had thankfully been more up for it, then.

She wasn’t the first to think of such an idea to showcase a collection but she was content enough to believe that their execution of it would set them apart.

Soon enough, the models were done and were putting on their first looks. Trixie grabbed Katya and finished off her eye makeup, applying copious amounts of setting spray. She touched up her hair, kissed her then told her to get changed. “I love you. This is going to be incredible.”

Katya paused, holding on to Trixie’s elbows to keep her in place too. “I love you so much. You’ve done an amazing job. I knew you were talented and I already admired how hard you worked, but seeing it up close...I’m in awe of you. I really am. Thank you for doing all this with me.”

Trixie gently kissed her again, rubbing up and down her side. “My pleasure, always.” Katya grabbed her hands and squeezed. “Right, miss thing, go and get changed and I will too.”

Trixie sent her on her way. Katya found a rare quiet corner, unzipped her garment bag and pulled out the just-on-the-edge-of-an-eyesore dress she had designed and had made at the factory for this very moment. It had taken days of non-stop sketching to get right and had taken weeks to produce, completely covered in sequins and beadings with three layers of beaded tassels to form the short skirt section at the bottom. The dress was long sleeved and patterned so that, depending on what light Katya was in, it looked mainly red with purple undertones or orange with gold undertones. She loved it. Paired with fishnet tights and some black Miu Miu lace up heels, which had silver spikes on the rounded toe, she completed her outfit with black plastic chain earrings. 

Five minutes before showtime, she instructed everyone to line up by the curtain that separated backstage from the eyes of the crowd. Katya and Amy, as much as they had loved the thought of a wacky set up, had settled on clear perspex formations to separate where each model stood, interspersed with mirrored slabs which reflected both the light and different angles of the outfits being displayed. That way, no matter where an observer sat or stood, they would get more than just a head-on view. 

Katya checked everyone’s outfits over and Trixie followed behind her to touch up the makeup if needed. 

“Looking perfect ladies!” Katya announced with glee. 

“Shame the same can’t be said for you.” Violet joked, giving her a wink from the front of the line. Fame, next to her, told her off, too in her work mode to relax into friendly banter. The two of them shared a glance, one which held years of understanding within it, and stood tall in their new Louboutins, more than ready to get going. 

Trixie sidled up next to Katya, taking hold of her hand and placing a ghost of a kiss against her cheek so as not to ruin any of her hard work.

Amy rushed to them, reporting that the hall was now full and that the doors had closed. “We’ve got people from Vogue, Glamour, Grazia, Flaunt, LA Magazine - the list is endless. Like, I knew exactly who was coming because, obviously, I sorted the invites but actually _seeing_ everyone is...wow.” 

Katya gestured her over and wrapped her arm around her side. “You’re a star, I hope you know that.”

“Oh I do.” She replied with a giant smile. “Right, it’s time.”

“Shit. Ok, fuck, let’s do this.” Katya took a deep breath, eased out of Trixie and Amy’s embrace and signalled to their sound and lighting engineers. 

Everything beyond backstage went pitch black and silent. Katya peered through a gap in the curtains to try and see the crowd, the glow of their camera and phone screens the only things visible. The models were to tip toe out in the dark for the first twenty or so seconds of the first track Katya had chosen to blast from the speakers and then, as soon as the bounding bass and clanging guitars came in, the lights would go up and all would be revealed. 

It hadn’t taken long for Katya to figure out what she wanted. She turned back to Violet and Fame as Automatic Systematic Habit by Garbage started to play, gave them one final grin and, with a clap of her hands, off they went, Naomi hot on their heels, followed by Pearl, Shea, Kim and Amy’s friends. 

Trixie had to go back to the stations to prepare for the models’ next outfits, Bob assisting everyone getting dressed (“I’m gay as hell so I won’t be looking at things I shouldn’t be, I promise!”). Katya and Amy stood by the curtains, silently watching on in awe as the room came to life, their audience jumping out of their seats almost as soon as the lights went up and immersing themselves in the world they had spent months and months and months creating. 

Everyone was doing astoundingly, of course, but Katya couldn’t keep her eyes off of Fame and Violet. They were positioned at the front and centre of the arrangement with everyone else spread out in sections each side of them and, though they were mainly required to stay still, they both managed to contort themselves like they were embodying the music. Their expressions were fierce and piercing, though both skillfully avoided seeming unapproachable or nasty, more like they were staring at the object of their desire with lust but dominance too. They owned the room and, in doing so, ensured the clothes they wore were the centre of attention. Katya could see it in the faces of their beholders - irresistible captivation. 

Before the second song started to play, the models exited the stage in reverse order, leaving Fame and Violet until last, where they posed, walked right up to the boundary separating them from the audience, posed again and strutted off in opposite directions. 

As everyone came past, Katya made sure to congratulate them before Amy gave them their times. Naomi and Shea had thirty seconds to change as the lights went down again and the perspex and mirrored slabs were quickly reconfigured, Curve’s cover of I Feel Love keeping the crowd entertained. Pearl and Kim had twenty seconds longer, Amy’s friends had ten seconds more than them and Fame and Violet would reappear last, coming to the forefront once again, but crossing over from left to right and vice versa to pose, leading a V shaped formation with Naomi directly in the middle. 

Katya was rooted to the spot, unable to tear away from watching each of her models turn it the fuck out. Of course she monitored the people in the audience, which pieces seemed to garner the most attention from influencers versus fashion journalists, for example, and the expressions upon people’s faces as they journeyed across the room, but a part of her didn’t give a damn about what anyone else thought. She was so fucking thrilled with it all, and she had Trixie alongside her to share that joy. That’s what fucking mattered. 

As her collection wasn’t very large, some of the pieces one model might have worn during the first part of the show was worn by another later down the line. It was a risk, showing the same item more than once but styling it differently, as she understood how some people in the industry could be fickle and easily bored. Yet, even during the final two sections, everyone remained out of their seats, concentration fixed on the different presentations. 

During the fourth part, Katya had chosen Marilyn Manson’s User Friendly. Trixie had bristled initially. 

“What’s wrong with Marilyn Manson?” Katya had asked.

“Plenty.” Trixie had deadpanned. “That song...I mean, the first two you clearly picked because of our history. So having _that_ kind of changes the mood and I don’t like it. You’re not fucking me ‘til someone better comes along.”

Katya had teased her for her brattishness but had assured her that she chose it because she had listened to that album a lot when she was younger, when she was finding her way with her art, and it was liberating to be where she was now, able to enjoy what she had once tied up too tightly with horrible feelings and memories. “And it’s just a fucking good song, alright? You know I’ll never fuck anyone else ever again. You’re stuck with me and my glorious pussy for life.”

Trixie had come round to it after that.

Once the final part had drawn to a close, Kælan Mikla’s Næturblóm the soundtrack to the models lounging on reflective platforms, each at different heights but pushed together to the right of the space for Fame and Violet to stomp their choreographed steps around, all the lights came up in preparation for the models to do a circuit of the stage area. Katya rightly supposed there would be continuous applause but, if not, at least her models would be clapping. 

She also hoped it didn’t come across as too tongue in cheek or even cheesy, to choose a rare Garbage song to close with, but the upbeat piano and the carefree, down-to-party-and-get-off lyrics very much suited how she felt, knowing the event was soon over and she could celebrate and make out with Trixie at the afterparty. 

The models came backstage to get back into the order they started the show in. Katya didn’t have to instruct a thing, everyone in a neat line, and Trixie quickly darted down to check on their faces, satisfied that they had maintained perfectly during multiple outfit changes. The music began and Violet awaited her cue - the short drum riff before the first verse - to lead everyone out, first to head around the platforms, to the back then forward and around again in two loops. Katya almost collapsed against the curtain in relief to see everyone on their feet, cheering and clapping, some even joining in with Shirley Manson’s ‘woohoo!’. 

By the second chorus, the models had returned backstage. It was unheard of at usual runway shows for the designer to have the team or any assistants come out too, but Katya wanted Bob and Trixie to receive credit where credit was due. Katya sent them on their way. The applause spiked again, Amy and Katya cackling when confusion crossed quite a few faces in the crowd. Trixie and Bob bowed at the front like they’d just done a high school musical theatre production, setting Amy and Katya off again, but Katya’s entire body thrummed with how ecstatic she was to see Trixie up there in a dress she’d designed being lauded for the thing she did best. 

They came backstage to the bridge of the song, a build up to the final chorus, to Katya’s appearance. As soon as she was in reaching distance of Trixie, she pulled her in and kissed her square on the lips, hard and intense and with an irrepressible desperation to show her how much she loved her. 

Katya managed to tear herself away when she heard her prompt, taking hold of Amy’s hand and turning to her with a wide grin. Amy winked at her, jumped in excitement on the spot and squealed, and dragged her out in front of the crowd, the standing ovation. They walked straight down to the front, Katya mouthing ‘thank you, thank you’ in every direction she could, before she burst into a jog back to all her friends, the people she loved and the woman who, in one way or another, had made it all happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'They knocked us from our high  
> I always thought we'd have another life  
> Dancing alone  
> Left in shadows  
> I paint you in the corner of my mind  
> Pull the colors from the rays of light
> 
> Close my eyes, I can't erase you...'
> 
> As always, music greatly inspires my writing. This story wouldn't have come about were it not for PVRIS' EP, aptly called Hallucinations. Please go listen to it. We stan a hot lesbian front woman (Lynn Gunn please marry me).


End file.
